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Jan 28, 2025

She-Wolf

Well, I got sucked down the Vikings Valhalla hole and this is what I found. Hope you like it!

Edit: I changed the name and summary and edited a bit of the content. This fic was born as much out my love of the history of England’s early queens, often dubbed she-wolves, as it is out my love for the show. I wanted it to reflect that.

She-Wolf Fandom: Vikings Valhalla Summary: Underestimate her at your own peril. Harald SigurdssonxOFC

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE

Warnings: Period typical politics, sexism, violence, death, discussion of abuse and torture, religious violence, explicit sexual content, occasional bad language

He first caught sight of her as they sat to eat, debts acknowledged if not repaid, spoils divided out to loyal warlords. It had all left a bitter taste and Harald, if he was honest, was ecstatic to have something to distract him. Watching her was surely better than ruminating on his thirty pieces of silver.

She paced the edge of the hall, seemingly searching for something in a room full of bloodied men, men who had destroyed a bridge and taken a fortified city - Viking men who outweighed her twice over at that. The room was a riot of noise and activity that she frankly seemed to not notice. A few times, someone would stumble into her path or lurch suddenly towards her, seeking a reaction from this odd visitor and she would continue almost as if she hadn’t seen them, unbothered.

At one point, a man pushed into her space, leaning over her, trying to use his size to intimidate her. She had rolled her eyes, waving off her men as they attempted to intervene. The man crumbled at her feet, alternately trying to hold his foot and his cock, yowling like a wounded cat. Harald couldn’t help himself, laughing around the lip of his cup as she brushed past the felled man with a rustle of green wool.

He wondered briefly if she was only so brave because of the presence of her men, both men large, full foot taller than her, red-headed and built broad, but then she looked up and he caught her eyes, green and hard as emeralds.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew there wasn’t much that would make her flinch.

She seemed to be considering him just as he considered her, curious but unconcerned. She arched an eyebrow and turned back to whatever she was doing there, fearless as if she was inherently safe there even when everyone else like her had fled or been dragged to the dungeons.

He was impressed and couldn’t keep the grin from his face as he waved off Leif, who craned his neck to try and see what was so amusing.

Canute stood. “Who are you?”

The room went silent and she sighed, as if inconvenienced, and tossed her head back like a spirited horse. “The Lady of Mercia.”

Her voice was louder than he expected, no soft, scared whisper, and oddly accented, like her tongue wanted to roll each word over and under itself.

Canute’s eyes jumped to the headless corpse against the wall by the door. Her eyes followed and Harald expected the mask to slip.

It didn’t. She looked satisfied, as if finding that someone had completed some loathsome errand for her.

Canute frowned, lifting his goblet to wet his tongue. “That is what you are, not who you are.”

She seemed satisfied by that as well, lips twisting in a smug half-smile. She undid the large brooch on her shoulder and pulled the woven wool airisaidh from her head. She passed it and her fur cloak to a waiting servant.

Her hair was as red as that of her men and thick with wild spirals. She was simply dressed, a deep green wool dress belted with a braided leather belt. She moved her left hand and he caught a flash of bright metal, a torc of braided silver. Despite the simplicity of her attire, the wool was fine and the torc looked expensive even from where he sat.

“I apologize, your highness.” She bowed shallowly, but not without due respect. Her men arrayed themselves behind her, bowing. “I am Mórag ingen Maíl Coluim, daughter of the King of Scotland, and the Lady of Mercia. These are my kinsmen, Angus and Bhaltair.”

Canute set his goblet down with a hard thunk. “I see. I’m afraid I killed your husband, princess.”

She smiled outright. “So ye did, your highness.”

Canute seemed almost amused. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Och… well, I attempted to make it here before my husband’s tongue won him an early grave.” She gave a little moue of thoughtfulness. “I was a mite late, it seems.”

Harald snorted, which broke the heavy tension and inspired a ripple of laughter throughout the room.

“Your grief is profound, Lady Mórag,” Edmund groused.

She laughed. “Hush, child. I’ll not be lectured by King Bleyđa.”

Her pronunciation was better than he would’ve assumed. Harald grinned openly, he liked her.

Edmund colored and the crowd behind her roared their approval.

One of her men, he didn’t know which, muttered something under his breath in a language Harald assumed was Gaelic.

She turned minutely over her shoulder, never taking her eyes off of Canute and murmured a reply, shrugging. Despite her relaxed posture and almost playful glibness, her eyes remained wary and taut as a bowstring.

Canute watched this exchange, eyes no less assessing, and waved over a servant. “Will you sup with us, princess?”

“You are certainly very different than I would have expected you to be, princess.”

She hummed, glancing up at the man who had been eyeing her all night. He was handsome, to be sure, but something about him set her nerves on edge. Maybe it was the over-confident smile or the dimples. “Is that so, m’lord?”

Harald nodded. “You’re very… bold.”

“That’s a word for it, I suppose.” She winced playfully.

Canute chuckled. “And your husband, what words would he use for you?”

“Nothing kind, I’d wager.” She shrugged, purposefully nonchalant, trying to give the impression that it hadn’t bothered her. “His feelings were reciprocated. I suppose I ought not to speak of him, though. Surely, it’s worse to speak ill of the dead in front of them.”

Harald grinned. “So you didn’t like your husband?”

She snorted. “You’ve met the man yourself, m’lord, did you like him?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t marry him.”

“And I didn’t choose to marry him.” She sipped her wine. “But then choice often has little to do with it, aye?”

He considered her quietly and nodded. “Was he cruel to you?”

She frowned a little, as if questioning why he was asking. “Well, Prince Harald, as with everything my husband did, he tried but often did not succeed. He never seemed to appreciate that it would take more than a little cruelty to make me bend.” Her eyes moved to Canute. A warning.

Olaf hummed and shared a look with Canute. “You’re very direct.”

“Aye, m’lord, I am.” She grinned, sipping her wine.

“And arrogant.”

She laughed. “I suppose so.”

“Your father didn’t seek to correct that trait, then?” Olaf sucked at the inside of his cheek.

Canute grinned. “You do not know to whom you speak, Olaf. This is the daughter of Forranach, the daughter of Malcolm the Destroyer. His favorite daughter, I’ve heard, and the one that is most like him in temperment.”

“You’re right, your highness, I am much like my father. And to answer Jarl Olaf’s question, my mother tried to curb my faults. She was not successful… unfortunately for everyone who has met me since.” Her mouth twisted ironically. “I’m not sure I could be called his favorite, though. My sisters married great men and I married him.” She turned over her shoulder and glanced at the corpse.

“If I know your father, and I do, this marriage proves his favoritism.” Canute nodded, tapping his temple. “Your father knew you would not be diminished by your husband, would not be dominated.”

“I doubt my husband could dominate a flock of sheep, your highness.”

“Much less you, lady.” Harald grinned.

She demurred, sipping her wine.

“I am inspired by your respect for your husband, Lady Mórag.” Edmund interjected.

She rolled her eyes. “What do you know of respect, bairn?”

Edmund sneered. “I know he is owed more respect than you give him. I know he was a great man, an Ealdorman of England-“

Her eyebrows climbed almost into her hairline. “Was he now? What made him so great, I wonder?”

Edmund seemed to falter. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you don’t. If you had listened to counsel, maybe you would.” She smiled and nodded at Emma. “Your stepmother did not send you to Mercia to treat with my husband but with me. You rejected that opportunity, despite Godwin’s counsel, because, and I quote: ‘she is a woman, what would she know’. If not for your foolish arrogance, you would still be alone on your throne.”

“You speak to me of arrogance.” Edmund stuttered, flushing again. “Why would I treat with you? You are only a woman. You don’t have an army.”

“Oh, but I do.”

Edmund looked conflicted, looking around the table as if seeking reassurance. “Liar!”

Emma sipped at her wine. “She tells the truth, Edmund.”

Mòrag settled more firmly in her chair, staring down the boy king. “It is not appropriate for a princess to have an army, I know, leastways not in England, but the truth remains: his army is my army, my dowry. More than two thirds of that army is Scottish and is related to me by blood or covenant. Having said that, who do you imagine the Mercian third would rather fight for? A foolish Ealdorman in his cups or a princess whose men have become their brothers?”

“Why would-“ It seemed to dawn on Edmund and he went pale.

She picked at the cuff of her sleeve. “The only thing my husband was great at is treachery. He thought he could buy an army and royal relations to build his kingdom. Your father swatted him on the wrist for his arrogance in marrying without permission but could not undo what had already been done.”

“But that would mean that King Malcolm armed my people against my father, against me. Why would he do that? What would he gain?” Edmund was shaken and she almost felt sorry for him. “Why would he trust Streona?”

“He didn’t.” Leaning forward, Canute made a tsk noise. “Forranach trusted his daughter.”

“It has nothing to do with England.” Emma sighed. “Malcolm knew that Eadric Streona was likely to meet an early end for his faithlessness. A Scottish army in Mercia would be beneficial for the King of Scotland, a deterrent against any misbehavior in Northumbria or Strathclyde.”

Nori looked impressed. “He knew she would be able to retain power if- when -her husband was killed.”

Harald sat in awe. “That she’d be able to keep a large army at his enemies' backs.”

“You’re a spy, scheming to take Mercia.” Edmund turned wide, vulnerable eyes on her. “You lied to your husband! Convinced him you would be a good and faithful-“

“Do you ever stop bletherin’, child? Ye shame yer house with yer constant whinging and wailing.” She sighed, exasperated.

“Maybe if I wasn’t surrounded by she-wolves and lying wh-“

“Haud ye wheesht!” She snarled, the room quieting in a flash. Her kinsman pushed to their feet noisily. She waved them off. “I have lied to no one and I have kept my vows. I told him why I married him. I even attempted to make him aware of my flaws.” She smiled, that same show of teeth and aggression. “Like you, he didn’t listen and that is not my fault.

“If he had listened, he may have made a different choice of wife. If you had listened, you would’ve had nearly ten thousand men in the marshes at Canute’s back. Instead, you believed so strongly in your abilities to negotiate, you let a fool force you over a barrel and now, Canute has those ten thousand men.”

Olaf leaned forward. “Would you have ridden out with those men if Streona did not?”

“If I needed to, I am prepared for such an event.”

Olaf scoffed. “Your husband would’ve let you ride off with his army?”

“I see now, you are much like my husband, m’lord. It is my army. And I would’ve liked to see him bluidy stop me. That would’ve been truly entertaining.” She laughed.

She entered the room, held high, posture erect, refusing to shame her father with a show of weakness. She fought not to fiddle with the silver cording of her belt or smooth her hands over the blue silk of her gown.

Canute gestured her further into the room, a pleasant smile on his face. “Thank you for meeting with us, princess.”

She bowed and nodded. “Of course, King Canute. How may I assist you?”

“I will not make the same mistake your husband made. I am listening.” Playing the gallant, Canute pulled her chair out for her. “Princess.” He motioned to the seat.

She smiled warily. “Thank you, your highness.”

He nodded and took the seat opposite, flanked by Jarl Nori and Edmund on one side and Prince Harald and Jarl Olaf on the other. The Prince’s eyes were hot on her and she arched an eyebrow at him.

Canute settled into his chair and nodded. “We need to discuss this army of yours.”

Mòrag turned from the Prince to respectfully consider the King. “Aye, suppose we do.”

Olaf leaned forward. “Your army is surrounded.”

Canute shot him a look, Olaf was stepping on toes.

She grinned. “Is it?”

The five men stilled suddenly.

“Has anyone checked recently?” She was going to get herself killed, but the shock on Canute’s face may be worth it.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“My army is not surrounded, as Jarl Olaf says.” She leaned forward, setting her chin on her palm. “I’ve moved them.”

Canute seemed almost intrigued. “To where?”

“At the risk of being impertinent, your highness, I will not tell you. I have no intention of meeting you in the field. But I also have no intention of allowing my kinsmen to be killed for following their lord into battle.”

Canute nodded. “I see, princess. I can promise that your men will not be held responsible for the actions of their leaders. Where is your army?”

“Between here and Mercia. Somewhere.”

Olaf grit his teeth. “Somewhere?”

She shrugged. “Somewhere. Should I assume, Jarl Olaf, that your men were supposed to be watching my men?”

Olaf shoved to his feet and stalked towards her, pushing her chair back. Harald rushed to his side and reached an arm around Olaf’s chest. Olaf shook him off and leaned into her space.

Olaf grit his teeth, hands on the arms of her chair. “Where is your army?”

“I do not know.” She tried to stay as relaxed as possible, smiling up at Olaf. “I did not ask.”

Harald frowned. “You did not ask where your army was going?”

She shook her head, grinning at Olaf. “I know they are somewhere between here and there. That is a lot of land and I’m sure it will take a lot of time and people to find them.”

“You didn’t ask so you couldn’t be forced to give the information if tortured.” Harald scratched at his beard. “Christ, woman.”

She stared down Olaf. “Muintir thar gach uile ní. Family above all.”

Edmund looked aghast. “You thought you would be tortured?”

She shot him an almost compassionate look. “You are frightfully naive and not likely to survive long if you don’t remedy that.”

“Enough!” Canute pinched at the bridge of his nose. “The men I killed… who were they?”

“They were Eadric’s men, Mercian and loyal to him.” She reached around Olaf to grab her goblet from the table and sipped her wine. “I’m in your debt twice over, your highness.”

Olaf leaned back into her space. “So who is leading your army then?”

“My men. Eadric wasn’t very smart, aye, but he was smart enough to leave my general and his captains in Mercia. They wouldn’t have turned from battle, whatever he said. They are not cowards.”

Harald grinned almost despite himself, moving to sit against the edge of the table. “You were well defended from Mercia to here, I’d wager.”

She reached around Olaf again to set the goblet down, sharing his grin. “Aye, I was.”

“Olaf, sit down.” Canute sighed as Olaf pushed off of her chair, sending it back another inch. Canute pegged him with a hard look as he regained his seat.

Harald stood and held a hand to her, helping her stand before righting her chair. She sat, eyeing him and barely remembering to thank him.

Canute shared a look with Prince Harald as he sat. “You claim you do not intend to meet me in the field.”

She nodded, leaning back against the arm of her chair to face him fully. “That is correct, your highness.”

He leaned forward. “Why?”

“Exactly. Why?” Shrugging, she drummed her fingers on her thigh. “I see nothing that could be gained from doing so.” She smiled. “I am content with things as they are. I see no reason for that to change.”

Olaf shifted, glowering at her from his chair. “You’re not concerned by who wears the crown?”

“Not particularly, m’lord.” She shrugged. “I have learned that my daily life is impacted little by the politics of this place. There is more of an effect on the small folk, I suppose, but even then, the difference is only minor.”

Canute seemed to consider this, rubbing his finger over his lip. “There are many who think the English throne belongs to an Englishman.”

“Aye, many Englishman are likely to think that, but I am not an Englishman. What do I care who sits on the English throne?” She smiled. “Besides, this is the way of things, is it not?”

Harald leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“In Scotland, you become king by killing your competition.” She shrugged. “I must confess, I find the English method rather baffling.”

“You find civilization baffling?” Edmund huffed.

Mòrag frowned. “I find this-” She gestured around them. “-facade baffling, aye. The Scottish way is brutal, but no less brutal than shoving a pillow over someone’s face and pretending to mourn them the next day.” Chuckling, she made another vague gesture. “The crown belongs to him that can wear it. I honestly do not care if that person is Viking, or English, or anything else.”

“What do you think makes a good king, then?”

She glanced up at Canute. “I have learned that a more stable head is better for the small folk than a flighty, easily offended one-“ she shot a look at Edmund, who bristled, “-and I am satisfied that King Canute is a proven warrior and leader. If I am wrong, and you are a poor king, these things have a way of working themselves out.” She held her hands up. “Therefore, either way, I am content, as I said.”

“I want to believe you, lady.” Canute smiled softly. “But I have learned not to.”

Mòrag nodded, fiddling with her torc. “Och… aye, your highness would not have lasted long on your throne if you were not appropriately suspicious.”

“I worry that you want more for yourself. A country, a kingdom of your own?”

“I do not mean to be glib, your highness, or disrespectful. I have none of my mother’s talent for diplomacy or subtlety.” She hummed and drummed her fingers on her thigh. “But Mercia is already mine. Maybe not in title but in fact, I have ruled Mercia for three years. My husband was content to play princeling and I was content to let him as long as he stayed out of my way. I fail to see how anything needs to change.” She reached for the wine in front of her and sipped. “I will be a loyal bannerman to you, your highness, as I was to Aethelred. Mercians will remain loyal to the crown and pay the taxes as is their obligation. I simply wish to be allowed to live my life free of harassment.”

Harald leaned forward. “And if your father needs his army?”

She chuckled. “They are my army, m’lord. My dowry, which reverted to me on my husband’s death. I will, of course, ride to my father’s aid if necessary, but that is not likely to happen. My father has a large army at his disposal already, elsewise he wouldn’t have been able to spare my army.”

“And how will the Mercians feel about you maintaining power? Won’t they want a relative of your husband to be Ealdorman of Mercia?”

“Aye, I’m sure they would, at least some of them.” Grinning, she went back to drumming on her thigh. “Unfortunately, none of my husband’s relations are strong enough or wealthy enough to take Mercia from me. One will be elected Ealdorman, I’m sure, but they cannot afford to lose me or my men. So I will remain.”

“Did you have any children with the late Ealdorman of Mercia?”

She sighed, dreading this question. “No, your highness.”

Olaf shared a look with Canute. “And if the Mercians force you to marry again?”

She paused and looked between the Jarl and the King. “At the risk of being too direct, are you proposing marriage, Jarl Olaf? I do not intend to offend you, m’lord, but I don’t think we’d suit.”

Olaf flushed and Canute made a half-hearted gesture, as if waving off Olaf’s displeasure. “What would happen if your husband’s relations attempted to force you to marry?”

Mòrag was frustrated, though she had expected this, and sipped her wine to avoid saying something perilous. “Again, I do not intend to be rude, your highness, but there are only two men on this island that could possibly force me to do anything, my father and you, and still only possibly.”

Against her expectations, Canute looked pleased with her answer. “So you would resist a marriage to one of your husband’s relations?”

“Aye.” She smiled again. “With vigor.”

“You shouldn’t bait my brother.”

She glanced at him over the top edge of her book, green eyes assessing. “Maybe your brother shouldn’t bait me.” She turned the page, looking away from him, the sunlight through the window behind her setting her hair on fire.

He sat himself in the window seat next to her. “My brother is a great warrior.”

“Aye,” she nodded. “And a twat.”

He laughed. “Are you trying to offend me?”

“Will it make you leave me be?” She turned the next page.

He snatched the book, revelling in the flash of anger in her eyes. “My brother can be very dangerous.”

She turned to face him. “So can I.”

He arched an eyebrow, measuring her up. She was small, barely shoulder height to him, with small, soft hands. “Princess, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think you’d win in a fight with my brother.”

He jumped, feeling something sharp against the inside of his thigh.

She smiled, pressing the tip of a small lady’s dagger to the leather of his trews. “A fair fight, surely not.” She held out her hand. “My book.”

He chuckled. “You fight dirty.”

“I fight to win.” She motioned for her book. “Something your brother would’ve realized if he kept baiting me.”

He handed it over and grinned as she waited a moment before removing the dagger. “You carried a dagger into a meeting with the King?”

She made a face and leaned back against the windowsill, crossing her legs. Her skirt brushed against his leg. “I carry a sgian dubh with me everywhere I go in this bloody place. I'd be a fool not to.”

He matched her posture, leaning back against his side of the window and brushing the back of her calf with his shin. “Not much of a proper English Lady are you?”

She scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“Are all Scotswomen like you?” He fought down the urge to lean into her, to crowd her and see what she’d do. He looked forward to the flash of anger and the clench of her jaw.

“No.” She smiled beatifically, the shift immediately putting him on edge. “They are all demure and kind, which is why I’m here and they’re there.”

“Ah. I see.” He shifted closer. “Don’t worry, lady, I doubt that your sisters’ great men could’ve handled you.”

She huffed out a laugh. “And I suppose you think you could?”

“I know I could.” He leaned forward, intent on stealing a kiss. He pulled up short, the sgian dubh pressed under his chin.

She looked smug. “You are easily distracted.” She removed the knife and stood to leave.

“And you are a proper she-wolf.” He bit at his lip. “Edmund was right.”

Shrugging, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe the only thing he is right about, m’lord.”

He was almost shocked, though he ought not to be. “Normal ladies would see that as an insult.”

“Normal ladies get raped and killed when invaders come.”

He nodded. “A survivor then, at any cost.”

She shook her head. “Not at any cost, but me and mine will survive and if I must be improper or unacceptable to secure that, so be it.”

He grinned. “So you are purposely being ferocious?”

“Och…well. Some of my ferociousness is personality. I’ll not shame my father by pretending otherwise.” She looked smug. “Some of it is so you lot will take me bluidy seriously.”

“Definitely a she-wolf then.”

She chuckled. “I have never denied it.”

“They are going to force you to marry a Viking.” He watched her face, not wanting to upset her, but wanting her to be prepared. “Maybe my brother.”

She paused and fiddled with her torc. “Aye, I’m sure they will try, but it will not be your brother, whatever his thoughts on the matter are.”

“What makes you say that?”

She considered him for a small moment. “It doesn’t take an astute mind to see that both Canute and your brother see marriage as a way to deal with the danger I represent. Canute wants me wed to someone he can trust and he doesn’t trust Olaf. Olaf doesn’t trust Canute and wants my wealth and my army, which is likely why Canute doesn’t trust your brother.”

He stood, nodding as he moved towards her. “And what do you want?”

She stood firm. “To never be bound to a man again.”

He frowned, sensing the story there. “And when they force you to marry? What will you do?”

She slid the dagger back into her sleeve. “They can try.”

He grinned down at her, eyes on her lips. “You’re very confident.”

She smiled at him. “M’lord, you lot couldn’t stop me from moving ten thousand men. What makes you think you can make me do anything I didn’t want to do?”

“Fair.” He laughed. “We can still jail you? Lock you in a tower?”

She stepped into his space and patted him on the cheek. “Scotsmen have been getting in and out of places they ought not to be for generations. I invite you to try.”

Leaning nose to nose with her, he whispered. “I might be tempted to.”

He closed the distance and captured her lips. He pulled away when she brought her heel down on the inside of his foot and caught her knee before she could knee him in the groin. He grinned and ghosted his fingers over her knee and up the outside of her thigh through the fine silk of her dress.

She made a small noise of outrage and he caught her wrist before she could slap him. He hauled her closer and stole another kiss. This one lasted longer and he’d wager that she wasn’t as outraged as she let on.

He told her so and gloried in the flash of green fire and the clench of her jaw.

“This will be very awkward if they try to force me to marry your brother, m’lord.”

He soothed the delicate line of her jaw with his thumb. “Yes, but I will always remember the kisses I stole and I imagine you will as well.”

She stomped on his foot again and laughed outright when this time he doubled over. “You are a cur.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I think you’re starting to like me though.”

She hit him on the shoulder with her book and marched off.

“I know this will be painful for you.”

She turned to bow to Canute. “What is that, your highness?”

He smiled down at her and joined her at the crenel she was looking out of. “Is that where your army is?”

She snorted. “I appreciate your attempt to trick the truth out of me, your highness. We are looking south. Mercia is to the north.”

He chuckled. “Yes, that is true.” He paused and sighed. “I wanted to tell you this myself, to repay the respect with which you treated me so far.”

She sucked in a breath. “I see.”

Nodding, he turned towards her. “I know that you do. I am sorry, lady, I know that this is not what you wanted-“

”That is an understatement.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

”I get the sense that your husband was cruel.”

She laughed bitterly, looking back out over the river. “He wanted to be, aye, but he lacked the stomach for it. One of the men you killed,” she pointed at the heads spiked above the gate, “was his stomach.”

“I am glad he is dead then. Both of them.” Canute laid his forearms on the merlon next to her. “You have survived much.”

She sucked on her tongue. “You do not have to pretend sympathy, your highness, you are a king.”

“And yet it is sympathy that I feel for you.” He smiled down at her. “I have been impressed by you. You are much like your father. I like you, I respect you. You are a stranger in this land the same as I, the same as Queen Emma, and like Emma, you have made this place yours.”

“If I’m so impressive, let me remain a widow.”

He huffed out a laugh. “See! This is what I mean! Anyone else in this country, a woman especially, would’ve fainted at the sight of us. But, you are fearless! You have met me head on in every conversation.”

“I am not from this country, your highness.” She grinned. “And you lot haven’t conquered Scotland, so..”

He smiled back. “Yet.”

She chuckled. “Ever.”

“As amusing and impressive as I find you, lady, you must marry.” He leaned towards her and tapped her temple. “It is because of this, because of who you are. I need your army in Mercia and I cannot risk that you will be killed and leave Mercia without an appropriate, loyal heir. You are fierce and you have a warrior’s heart, but you are only one person. You need support.”

She sighed heavily and nodded.

Canute reached up and patted her on the head. “If you had a child or better two, if I could trust that Mercia would remain secure, I would not require this of you. For that, you have my sympathy. My intention is for you to marry someone who is your equal in rank and station, to not demean you with my choice. And because I like you, I wish for you also to be well-treated, to have a happy marriage.”

She scoffed. “That is not likely to happen, your highness.”

“I think it might.” He winked.

“I will not marry Olaf.”

He snorted. “No, you will not. You’d kill him during the wedding feast. Prince Harald told me you had a knife with you during our negotiation.” He shot her a look. “A knife you ought to have given to Agnarr before entering the room.”

She batted her eyes at him. “I have a knife now, your highness. If I wanted to kill you, I would have.”

Laughing, he started to walk away. “I have more people yet to speak with, but I think I know who it will be.”

“She is a rare woman, yes?”

Harald hummed. “What?”

“A woman, from this island, no less, who does not shrink from us. A woman who stared down Vikings and stole an army from under Olaf Haraldsson.” He whistled low. “To add to that, she is a beauty and intelligent, from a line of strong warrior kings.” Canute smiled and looked out the open window into the castle yard where Mòrag had started something of an archery competition. “She is rare indeed.”

Harald had caught sight of her some time ago, as she sat checking the fletching of a large pile of arrows, her guards setting up an array of targets in the field behind her.

She was amicably chatting in Gaelic with her kinsman, separating arrows that didn’t meet her standard into a small neat pile. When she was satisfied, she stood and brushed her hands over skirt, pulling it up and threading the end through her belt.

She marched over, picking up her bow and tested the string. Satisfied, she picked her first arrow from a barrel.

Thrum.

Center. He smiled.

Before long there was a small crowd of soldiers and warriors, some of which competed, some watching.

“She is beautiful.”

He nodded absently, smiling while she argued the ‘judge’s’ ruling.

“The wind caught it!”

“No, Mórag, you are just a poor loser.”

“Aye, well I can’t be good at everything, can I?”

The men laughed and she, laughing, landed in her next, arguably harder, shot in the direct center of the target. She smiled brightly, not an anxious, edgy smile or a grin that was all teeth, but a pretty, girlish smile full of good-humor and warmth.

She turned to Angus, when his arrow landed two inches south of hers. “Ha!”

Canute chuckled. “You seem smitten.”

Harald grunted, shooting him a look. “No. But she is amusing.”

“She is that.” Canute seemed to consider that. “She would make a good wife.”

Harald laughed dryly. “She doesn’t want to be married again.”

“No, but she must, and she knows it.” Canute sighed, setting his palms on the wide stone window sill. “She knew that her fate was sealed the minute I saw her at the feast. She’s very astute.”

Harald nodded. “But then, why would she come here knowing that?”

“I’m still working that out, to be honest. Something motivated her to enter that hall after a husband she hated.” Canute looked out over the competition. “I do not know.”

Mòrag was considering her final shot, which would’ve proved tricky for any archer, the target small and angled down towards the ground. She drew the bow, aiming much too low.

Harald frowned, leaning forward. “What is she doing?”

She loosed the bow and watched with a growing smile as the arrow bounced off a nearby rock and hit directly in the center. The crowd went quiet before erupting with cheers. Smiling rather smugly, she turned and bowed.

She accepted the praise and questions with good-humor, explaining the shot patiently while she helped gather the targets and arrows.

Canute glanced at him as she tried to pull herself away from the crowd as gracefully as possible, shaking her skirt loose from her belt. “You are my choice for her husband.”

Harald let his head hang loose. “Neither her nor I wish to marry, your highness.”

Canute nodded. “I know, but I believe it to be a good match, both in rank and temperment.”

Harald sighed, holding his hands out as if looking for the answers in the air around him. “Your highness, she dislikes me.”

Canute laughed, looking down at the path towards the keep. “No, she doesn’t. She maybe doesn’t want to like you, because I’m sure she knows that you will be my choice. But if the way she’s marching up here is any indicator, she doesn’t dislike you.”

Harald sighed and Canute paused and caught his eye. “You know you cannot have her. Do not lose your chance at a throne due to idealism and stubbornness. You like her-“ he pointed at Mórag, who was watching him as she climbed the steps to the door of the keep, “she has what you need, I believe, is what you need. She is fierce and loyal and intelligent. She will do you honor in her every activity. She will bear you sons and daughters enough to fill every kingdom in Europe. Do not be foolish, Harald Sigurdsson.”

Mórag stepped through the door, looking suspiciously between them before bowing to Canute.

Canute smiled. “You’re an excellent archer, lady.”

“Thank you, your highness.” She seemed to come to a decision and turned to Harald with a bright if disconcerting smile. “Prince Harald, you were staring at me for so long, I figured you must want a souvenir.” She pressed an arrow to his chest. “My last arrow. Treasure it always.”

She pressed past him, all arrogance and smug pride.

Canute barked out a laugh. “Truly a match in temperament.”

“Please don’t ask about them.”

Harald frowned and set his boots aside, looking back at his new wife, standing in her nightgown on the other side of the room. His eyes first found the blue tattoo wrapping around her bicep.

“Viking women are often tattooed, Mórag-“

“I’m not talking about the tattoo. Though I would ask you not to mention it to anyone who may know my mother.” She smiled sadly, silhouetted by the firelight. “I’m sure my father did not tell her that I received it and she would be cross with him if she knew.”

He smiled and moved towards her, running the tips of his fingers over the intricate swirls and braids. “Why did you receive it? I assume tattoos for your people are given for the same reasons as Viking tattoos.”

She shrugged. “I saved one of my father’s advisors and his wife from a small group of brigands.” She waved off his shock. “It was nothing, I was hunting and came upon them in the woods.”

She turned from him and started working her hair out of Gytha’s complicated braids, occasionally working a ribbon or a spring of flowers loose and dropping it on a small side table.

“You are very beautiful.”

She turned over her shoulder and treated him with a small, nervous smile. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “I’ve never seen you nervous.”

She hummed noncommittally. She lifted her right arm, reaching up to lift the diadem from her head. As she placed it on the table, the firelight caught an irregularity in the skin of her shoulder. He brushed her hair off her shoulder and traced his finger over the scar down toward her spine.

“You were whipped. Why?”

She was quiet for a moment, but he could feel the fury in her posture, spine straight and shoulders rigid. He pulled his hand away.

“Do ye think there’s an acceptable reason for me t’ve been whipped?”

“Of course not.” He cursed himself internally. “I did not mean to imply anything like that.”

She nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about them, but I believe it is fair to warn you.”

He winced. “There’s more?”

She turned, hair loose and free, like a halo of fire around her. She looked up at him, eyes vulnerable and scared.

She swallowed. “There’s more, aye, and in some very delicate places.”

It dawned on him in a sudden rush, that his bold, proud, little Valkyrie of a wife did not fear torture because she had already been tortured. Likely by her former husband.

He took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry for asking when you asked me not to.”

She nodded. “I should’ve been more specific. You didn’t know. I think I assume everyone knows because I cannot forget them.” She shrugged.

“Can I ask one question and then I’ll never mention them again?”

She smiled softly. “My hus- my former husband, aye, but mostly one of his captains, a man named Puttoc. He was one of the men that Canute killed. His head is spiked over the river gate.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”

She fidgeted with her hands, absently.

“We do not have to…” he soothed his hands over her shoulders and captured her hands.

She sighed and smiled, albeit anxiously, up at him. “Yes, we do. Otherwise, all this pomp and ceremony is a waste.”

“But if you are anxious, then we can wait.” He caught her eyes with an earnest look. “I would not cast you aside.”

“I am anxious, aye, this has never been a comfortable experience for me. But I know that you are honorable and I trust you not to repeat my husband’s decisions.” She looked down and away. “Unless it is you who does not wish to?”

He leaned over and kissed her, gentle still but undoubtedly ardent. He lifted his hands to her head, digging his fingers into her hair and directing her face to his. Mórag moaned into his mouth, lifting her hands to twist in his tunic. He separated from her for a moment, favoring her with a hot look.

He licked into her mouth, smiling against her lips as she moaned again. When he pulled away again, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I wish to. I’ve wished to since I first saw you.” He kissed her again, one hand dropped to her waist to encourage to lift up on her toes and meet him halfway.

She placed both hands on his chest and leaned up against him, still too small to bridge the distance. He grinned down at her, enjoying how small she felt against him, how seemingly delicate. He slid his mouth up the arch of her jaw, placing sucking kisses along the way.

Harald placed a wet kiss under her ear. “I’ve wished to see all this glorious hair spread out over my pillow, to see if you are as passionate, as bold, in our bed as you are out there.” He pulled her ear lobe into his mouth, holding her tight to him as she shivered. “I wish to show you that this experience can be more than just comfortable.”

She laughed breathlessly. “Please tell me you are not all talk, husband. That would be most disappointing.” She pulled her hands from his chest and tugged at the first tie of her nightgown. The fabric separated over her breasts and pooled in her elbows.

He could see fine, pale marks scattered over the skin of her right breast and, despite his desire to cave in the head of anyone who had ever hurt her, he knew better than to make a scene.

He grinned, catching her eyes as he palmed her breast briefly, tweaking her nipple. Eyes still locked with hers, he guided her to straighten her arms and allow the nightgown to fall to the floor. He hooked his hands under her thighs and lifted her free of the pool of fabric.

She seemed pleased with his reaction and placed small, almost chaste kisses to his mouth as he carried her the short distance to the bed. He followed her down onto the bed, laying heavily over her, and kissed her deeper.

With a siren’s smile, she pulled at the collar of his tunic. “You are overdressed, husband.”

“You’re right.” He sat up, pulling his tunic up and over his head.

Laughing, she helped him, eager hands pushing the hem up his chest and lingering on the muscles of his chest and stomach.

He captured her hands and leaned over to bite gently at the meat of her palm. She gasped, watching him with rapt attention.

“My pretty, little wife.” He switched both of her wrists into one hand and moved to pin them over her head. When he met with resistance, his wife twisting her wrists as if to free them, he let go and caught her eyes.

She swallowed, pulling her arms in and clutching her hands to her chest, protectively. “Please don’t-“

He nodded, heart breaking, and pressed a sweet kiss to her mouth. “I’ve decided I’d rather have your hands on me anyways.” He grinned, coaxed one of her hands free and, pressing a kiss to her palm, brought it to his chest, flattening it over his heart. “Touch me, she-wolf.”

She hummed and drew her hand down his torso, testing the muscle of his chest and scraping blunt fingernails over his nipples, tracing the ridged muscles of his abdomen. He groaned, looking down to watch her fingers play with the fine hairs under his bellybutton.

“That’s it, Mór. Touch me.” He smiled.

Lifting her free hand, he placed a hot, wet kiss to her inner elbow. She moaned and he moved to place a kiss to her bicep, tracing his lips over blue swirls and braids and then further up toward her shoulder where more fine, pale lines lay, marring the top edge of the tattoo.

He smiled down at her. “My little warrior.” She lifted her hand and cupped the back of his head, directing his lips to hers.

He bit at her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, before kissing her, slipping his tongue against hers.

She moaned into his mouth, back bowing off the mattress. “Harald,” she called and he swelled in his leather trews.

“You sound as pretty as you look, wife.”

He dropped her arm and planted both forearms on either side of her head, grinding his hips against hers as he kissed her ever deeper. She dug her fingers into his side and his back, pulling him into her as she arched against him.

He groaned and sucked a finger into his mouth, before separating enough to slip a hand between them. He pressed his mouth to hers again.

He petted at the lips of her sex, pleased that she was already slick, anxiety forgotten. He kissed her, swallowing the moan she released when he brushed his thumb against the little pearl at the top of her sex.

She arched and he smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Can I, elskan?”

She nodded quickly, moaning when he brushed his thumb over her again. Groaning with her, forehead against hers, he slowly slid in a finger, watching her face as he did. She screwed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into his side.

“Look at me.”

She opened her eyes and he moaned, pressing his hips forward against her thigh, needing to take some of the edge off, as he started to move his hand. With every press of his hand, the pretty sounds she made increased.

She cupped his face between her hands and pulled him to her. He grinned against her lips and watched as she began to come apart.

“I have you, Mórag.” He groaned into her ear, undoing the laces of his trews with his free hand and pulling himself free.

He brushed his thumb over that same little pearl relentlessly and tugged at his cock while she panted.

He set his mouth to her ear and whispered what he’d like to do to her in the future, all the ways he’d like to have her. She moaned, breathy and beautiful, her small hands digging into his shoulders and upper back.

He groaned into her ear, “my pretty, little wife.”

Her body tightened in a sudden rush and she gasped his name.

Harald removed his hand from her and used her slickness to ease the glide of his hand over the tip of his cock.

He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and looked down the length of her body, noticing other patches of pale, faint lines scattered over her torso and inner thighs.

Her hand found his on his cock and he forced the thought of those scars and what they meant from his mind.

He grinned down at her. “Are you ready, elskan?”

She nodded, some of the same anxiety leaking into her eyes. He caged her in with his forearms, again leaving her hands free, and set his forehead against hers.

He was rewarded with the brush of her knee against his side, the fingers of one hand carding into his hair, the other hand massaging at his lower back

“We are in no rush, Mórag.” He laid over her, rolling his hips against her. “We have all the time in the world.”

She moaned through a brilliant smile. “I’m ready, but you ought to take off your trews. They chafe like a bitch.”

He dropped onto her, laughing as he pressed his face into her shoulder.

When he lifted up, she was smiling. He pressed a kiss to her nose. “We will have so much fun, wife.”

She snorted. “I hope so. Marriage can be awfully boring.”

Quirking her chin, he kissed her before levering himself up and off of her. He shoved his trews down off of his hips as quickly as possible and was back over her, hips cradled by her thighs.

He moaned as he slid into her, eyes hot on hers. They moved together, the fire building as they separated and came together, separated and came together.

Before long, her body tightened again, her back arching up against him. He wrapped one arm around her back, planting the other in the mattress and groaned loud and long into her neck as he reached his completion.

The next morning he awoke to find her dressing.

“Where are you going, wife?”

She turned and smiled at him as smoothed her chemise down over her hips. “I’m supposed to break my fast with Queen Emma. I was trying not to wake you.”

He grinned and blatantly stared. “You could’ve woken me earlier. I would’ve liked to break my fast with you.”

She looked briefly confused before she caught the innuendo in his eyes. She laughed, all ease and warmth. “Maybe another day, husband.”

He stood from the bed and sat, still naked, in the chair next to her. She lifted a dress from a nearby table and stepped into it. It was not as simple as she seemed to prefer, the deep blue fabric heavily embroidered and stiff.

“This dress is… more than I’m used to seeing you in.” He stood and helped her do up the lacing under her arm.

She nodded. “Emma is always so elaborately dressed. I sometimes wonder how she moves at all.” She grinned, a little bashful. “I don’t want to embarrass you by looking like a poor relative.”

He shook his head. “You are beautiful in whatever you choose to wear-” he grinned and winked at her, “-or choose not to wear.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then up her neck. She pressed back against him, angling her head to allow him room to nibble at her jaw.

He hummed against her skin. “You smell good.”

“Thank you.” She cast a look over her shoulder. “You’re still naked.”

“I’m hoping you will break your fast quickly and come back so I can break mine.” He smiled. “Have you ever experienced that way of breaking your fast?”

“Do you remember my former husband?” She snorted, eyebrow arched as she looked back at him. “Of course not.”

He kissed her. “I look forward to showing you then.”

“Temptation thy name is Harald.” She stepped away from him and shook her finger at him, before picking up her silk belt from the table.

He sat again and watched. “Can I ask you something?”

She hummed, looping a silk belt around her waist. “Of course.”

“Why did you come to London? To save Eadric?” Harald bit at his lip, watching her braid her hair back with quick, efficient movements. “Why would you try to save him?”

She looked back at him, quietly, softly. “Muintir thar gach uile ní.”

“Family above all.” He swallowed. “He did not deserve your loyalty, surely.”

“It was less about what he deserved and more about the standard I hold myself to.” She shrugged and slid her torc onto her wrist. “It’s hard to explain.”

“I think I understand.” He grabbed her hand and held her gaze. “I seek to be worthy of your loyalty.”

She leaned down to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She rubbed her fingertips through his beard. “For not… questioning me about that. Many of my own kinsmen think I’m a fool for protecting him as long as I did.”

He ran his hand down her side, feeling the stiff ridges of heavy embroidery on her gown.

“You are not a fool, but loyal and honorable, even for those who do not deserve it.” He reached up and kissed her.

“I can help.”

Harald sighed, hands on her shoulders. “I'm sure you can, Mór. But you don’t need to. Sit and keep Liv company.”

She huffed and walked away from him, sitting next to Liv at the stern. She smiled at the Viking woman and shrugged. “I don’t like having nothing to do.”

The woman nodded and gestured to her arm. “I know the feeling.”

The wind picked up as the boat pulled into open water and set sail. She noticed Liv shiver and stood to remove her cloak and lay it over both of their laps. She adjusted her airisiadh around her to cover more of her shoulders.

“My lady?”

She turned and looked up at Leif, the man who had brought down London Bridge.

“Mórag is fine. Leif, right?”

He nodded. “Your cloak, what is it made of?”

“Ah, it’s-“ she paused, searching for the word. “I don’t know the Norse word for it. It’s a large dog… of a sort.”

He shrugged. “I am not from a place with many dogs, small or large. Anything that doesn’t run, is eaten.”

“I have known a few winters like that.” She smiled softly.

Liv frowned. “You are a princess, lady.”

She nodded. “And Scotland is a hard place at times.” Mórag shrugged. “Makes us strong though, doesn’t it? And canny.”

Liv ducked her head in a nod.

Leif smiled. “So a large dog?”

“Sort of. I think I need assistance.” She chuckled, sharing a small smile with Liv, and waved over Harald.

He smiled and joined her at the stern. “Yes, Mór?”

She paused as the shortened version of her name had caught her off guard. “I don’t know the Norse word for wolf.”

He provided it and sat before her, side pressed against her knees. “Why do you need the Norse word for wolf?”

“Leif asked me about my cloak.”

Harald glanced up at Leif, before registering what she said. “Your clock is made of wolf pelt?”

She nodded, smiling as he reached out to touch it. “Aye.”

“Did you hunt this wolf?” The word sounded foreign in Leif’s mouth.

Harald shot him a look. “Of course she didn’t-“

Mórag frowned. “Yes, I did.”

Harald was taken aback. “You hunted a wolf?”

“Aye. I hunted a wolf.. and boar and deer and badger and pheasant, and a lynx, once, though he got away.” She shrugged. “What of it?”

Harald still looked dubious. “How old were you when you hunted this wolf?”

She glowered down at him, feeling coddled and mocked. “Fourteen… nay, fifteen.”

“You hunted a wolf-“

Unable to resist the urge to shock him, she interjected. “By myself.”

Harald spluttered. “You hunted a wolf by yourself at fifteen? How-“

“How else?” She shrugged. “With a bow.”

“With a bow.” Harald huffed out a laugh. “If I didn’t know you to be perilously honest, I would not believe you.”

“To continue to underestimate me is dangerous, husband.” She glowered at him.

“I do not underestimate you, wife. You are very small and just when I think there must be some limit to your death-defying feats-” Harald shrugged. “I am wrong, it seems.”

Liv chuckled. “That’s a feat in and of itself, lady. To get him to admit that he is wrong, the great Prince Harald-“

“Future King of Norway.” Leif supplied.

Mórag grinned. “I’ll cherish it always.”

Harald waved them off, smiling. “So at the tender age of fifteen, my very small wife hunted and killed a wolf all by herself?”

Mórag nodded. “I did.”

“You should believe her, m’lord!” Bhaltair called from the seat near his oar, with a grin. “Angus got the tanning of his life for that escapade.”

Mórag winced and caught Harald’s bemused eyes. “I did apologize.”

Angus huffed from his seat. “Aye, after she flounced up to the keep with a wolf over her saddle, bold as anythin’, cocky as a rooster. The wolf bluidy outweighed her!”

Bhaltair scoffed. “No, it didn’t! It was large but not a freak of nature.”

“It did. I remember thinking I didn’t know how she got it on the damned saddle.” Angus nodded fervently.

“It was a verra large wolf.” She smiled at Liv and Leif in turn and winked. “I used a rope, of course.”

Leif grinned, nodding. “Of course.”

“A rope.” Angus gaped at her. “You are a bluidy liar, Mórag! You’re havin’ me on!”

“Maybe…” she grinned. “But you’ll never know the truth because I was all by myself. Undefended. I could’ve been killed.”

Angus said something in Gaelic that had her falling over in laughter.

Harald grinned. “So you killed a wolf and managed to get it home by yourself?”

She nodded.

He laughed. “You are an accomplished hunter.”

She shrugged. “I enjoy hunting. I don’t have to be something I’m not.”

“Well said.” He grinned. “A proper she-wolf.”

“So you are his wife?”

She looked up at the tall, blonde woman. Of course, she would be everything that Mórag was not, this woman that Harald loved. “Aye, I am.”

“I am Freydis Erikdotter. I am-“

“I know who you are.” She sighed. “I am Mórag ingen Maíl Coluim.”

Freydis nodded. “I know.”

Mórag hummed. “He seems anxious.”

Freydis looked over at Harald, where he sat with his men. Harald seemed to look between them, as if asking them- both of them - to not make a scene.

She laughed softly. “I think he’s worried that I will offend you.”

Mórag smirked back at her husband. “More likely he is worried that I will offend you. I am known for being rather rude.”

“Shall we start a battle in the middle of the hall?”

Mórag snorted. “Winner takes all?”

Freydis smiled broadly. “I feel he is too much of a pain to put forward this much of an effort.”

“Agreed.” Mórag nodded. “He is pretty though. Those dimples have to be worth at least one sword battle. His hair, maybe an archery competition.”

Freydis seemed to break like a dam, laughing loudly all of a sudden and hitting the table.

“Och…” Mórag grinned sharply at her husband, revelling in his panicked expression. “Now he’s even more worried.”

“Worried that we will ally together against him.”

“Undoubtedly.” Mórag chuckled. “Worried that our wrath will level Kattegat.”

“Or bring about Ragnarok.” Freydis caught her confused expression. “The end of the world.”

“Ah.” Mórag nodded. “I rather think the gods would come down and join us. Impressed with our prowess.” She smiled and fiddled with her torc. “When my mother was particularly frustrated with me, she would tell me that I was only named Mórag because naming me Morrígan, after the goddess of war and fate, would’ve gotten her excommunicated.”

Freydis smiled. “You are not what I would’ve expected.”

Mórag sipped her ale. “Nor I, you.” She stood and bowed respectfully at Jarl Haakon. “I need a moment. Thank you, Freydis.” She squeezed the woman’s shoulder as she left.

She was outside alone for no more than five minutes before he found her.

“What did you and Freydis talk about?”

She shot him a look. “What do you think we talked about, husband?”

“Me?” He grunted frustrated when she just snorted. “What about?”

“Och, well…” she grinned. “We discussed having a ‘winner takes all’ battle right there in the middle of the hall.”

He huffed. “Do not tease me, Mór.”

“I’m not teasing. That is literally what we discussed.”

“You’re going to take on Freydis in a battle?”

His tone conveyed his opinion on the matter and Mórag bristled at the doubt. “Of course not, Harald. We did discuss it but the conversation was in jest. I’m well aware that I am no competition for the Great Shieldmaiden of Kattegat.”

He sighed, hanging his head. “That is not what I meant, Mórag.”

She scoffed. “That is exactly what you meant.” She sighed and turned towards him. “I know this is not what you wanted. I know I am not who you wanted, but worry not, dear husband, I will not make you choose.”

She started walking away and he caught her hand, pulling her back. He set his hands on her shoulders, seemingly attempting to find the words.

“I know you must be angry-“

“Must I?” Mórag seemed sarcastically surprised. “Why is that?”

“Because you…” he made a vague motion. “Because I have another woman. Because I know your previous marriage was-“

She caught his eyes and held them with a fierceness he did not expect. “Do not pretend t’spare my feelings like I am a bairn in need of yer comfort. Y’know nothin’ about me, Harald Sigurdsson.”

He smoothed his hands over her shoulders. “Mórag, I am just trying to be sensitive to how you may be feeling.”

“Ye dinna ken what I am feelin’ and ye dinna fuckin’ ask!” She fumed, shrugging off his hands. “If ye had, I’d tell ye that I have no quarrel with yer lover, but it would’ve been nice to know she existed before she met you at the bluidy boat. I know better than t’expect loyalty from a husband but I would’ve thought I deserved yer honesty.”

He pulled back as if she had slapped him and moved to speak.

She held a hand up to stop him. “I am tired of being doubted, underestimated, treated like a child. I am a woman grown who has already survived one husband who hated me. I just wish to not be bound to another.”

He looked sad, pitying, and it rankled her nerves. “I will not hate you, Mórag, not ever.”

“Do not make promises to me that ye can’t keep, Harald. I do not need pretty words or placating lies. I made my decision when I knelt next to ye in t’chapel and I stand by it. Whatever decision ye make from this point on, is yers alone. Stand by it.”

“I do stand by the decision to marry you. I do.”

“Then why are we talking, Harald? Why are ye telling me how I must feel?”

“I do not wish to start our marriage in this way.” He was pleading with his eyes. “I do not want to be enemies with you.”

She shrugged him off of her. “Then don’t be.” She walked a few steps before pausing and turning back to him. “And ye may want t’find another room t’tup Freydis. I will be in yer bed where I belong. And I will not tolerate being woken up.”

His vision blurred as he summoned the strength to lift his axe. Jarl Kåre’s berserker grinned as he approached, making a show of wiping his blade on the clothing of his latest foe. He charged and Harald grunted, trying to maintain consciousness as he shoved himself to his feet.

Suddenly, the man fell, an arrow through the side of his head.. He frowned and squeezed his eyes shut to clear them. There was the thrum of a bow and he opened his eyes.

His wife.

Thrum.

Another berserker landed dead before her feet.

“Bhaltair, find a horse. We need to move him.”

Angus lifted an abandoned shield and took up the defense, allowing Mórag to turn toward him and begin assessing his condition.

“You shouldn’t be here. You were supposed to leave.” He coughed, pitching him forward into her.

Her eyes jumped to his, steadying him back against the wall he had been laying against. “You’re awake.”

“I told Leif to tell you to leave.”

“And I told Leif that he wasn’t my husband, so he couldn’t tell me what to do.”

“Mórag, this isn’t a game.” He grunted, trying to sit forward. “You need to leave.”

She frowned and ignored him, hands pulling at the tear in his tunic to see his wound.

“Mórag, you need to leave.”

“Leave to where, exactly?”

He batted at her hands, hooking his other hand around her neck to pull her face to his. “You need to leave.”

“Yes, you’ve said, but you’ve yet to say where you think I ought to go.” She huffed. “And am I to presume that you are going to stay here? In your condition?”

He looked over her shoulder at Angus. “Take her home to Mercia. She’ll be safe.”

“To Mercia? While you stay here? Why?”

“I can’t keep you safe here.” He grunted and tried to sit up straighter.

She tutted and pressed clean cloth to his side.

“You need to leave. You are not safe.” He wheezed. “I need you to be safe. I promised that I-“

He trailed off and she looked up, briefly panicked that he had slipped into unconsciousness again. He was looking over her shoulder and she turned, one hand reaching for her bow.

Oh. She winced, catching sight of the shieldmaiden. She sighed. “I see.”

“Mórag…”

She shook her head and lifted his hand to press the cloth to his side. “Hold pressure here or I’ll be twice-widowed in the space of two months.”

She stood and brushed out her skirt, before bending to retrieve her bow. He tried to grab for her hand, repeating her name. She shook her head and moved her hand away. She turned, squaring her shoulders as she stared down Freydis. Nodding at the taller woman, conceding the field, she turned to leave.

“Mórag, I’ll come for you when it’s safe.” His voice was almost plaintive, and she wondered who he was trying to convince.

She paused and turned to face him. “No, you will come for my army.” She felt a rising tightness in her throat. “Or my coin, I suppose, for she cannot give you those.”

He shook his head and tried to stand. When he couldn’t get his legs under him, Freydis moved to help him.

“Mórag-“

“I misjudged you. You don’t listen either.”

He looked stricken.

She smiled sadly. “Farewell, Prince Harald.”

“What’s his wife like?”

Leif looked up and looked briefly panicked. “What?”

Dorn gestured towards Harald, who was sharpening his axe, across the fire. “What’s his wife like? I figure he is not particularly fond of her, as he never talks about her.”

Leif swallowed. “His wife, Mórag-“

“Mórag? She’s a Gael?”

Nodding, Leif turned his attention to a pile of rope. “Yes, she is a Scottish princess.”

Dorn made a face as if she wanted him to continue.

“She has red hair, she's small, pretty…” he cleared his throat. “I uh… like her freckles.”

“And?”

Leif hummed, unsure as to what they were looking for. “And..”

Mariam giggled. “She wants more detail, Leif.”

Dorn nodded. “Is she kind, sweet, charming? I imagine she must be very dour if Harald doesn’t like her.”

“Harald likes her fine. There were complications and we had to leave Kattegat soon after they were married.”

He didn’t precisely know why he defended her, by rights he should dislike her, but he didn’t. He hummed again, this time thoughtfully. “She is kind, at least to me and someone I cared about, she was kind.” Leif took a breath. “I wouldn’t call her sweet, necessarily, she’d likely be offended if she were called that. She is fierce and direct.”

“Fierce.” Batu made a face. “So she is not a wilting rose or a scared little girl, then. How interesting.”

Leif hummed. “She seems the type to charge ahead despite fear, stubborn and determined once she's made a decision.”

Mariam smiled. “An excellent match for Prince Harald. She seems unusual for someone of her rank, though.”

Leif nodded, smiling. “She is not what I expected. She’s an excellent archer and hunter, she wears a cloak made from the fur of a wolf she brought down herself. She is sharp-witted and canny. She managed to steal ten thousand men from under King Canute’s nose.”

Kaysan smiled. “Impressive.”

Dorn seemed almost put out, confused. “Then why doesn’t he talk about her?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Dorn, Kaysan, and Batu all jumped. Harald grunted as he took the rope from Leif with a sharp look.

“Do you not like her?”

Harald sighed and turned to look back at them. “I admire her and respect her.”

Batu gave him a look. “But do you like her?”

Harald grunted. “Yes, I like her.”

Dorn sighed almost wistfully and nodded. “What is she like? What do you like about her?”

Harald made a vague motion. “She is… she is a she-wolf.” he hesitated. “She is loyal and honest. She is unshakable and fearless.”

“She sounds like a goddess.” Batu grinned. “Is there anything bad about her?”

“She has very little in the way of social graces. She is difficult and seems to delight in shocking people, putting people on their back foot.” Harald made a face. “She is a sore loser. And she’s prone to arrogance and stubbornness. She thinks being called a she-wolf is a compliment, so she would definitely be offended if someone called her sweet. She can be careless and rude, but generally, from my experience, she means well and she would be willing to die for her family even when they don’t deserve it.”

“And?”

Harald shrugged, turning away. “And I miss her.”

Leif found him later, sitting away from the fire. “I do not think they meant to upset you.”

Harald sighed. “I am not upset.”

“Clearly.”

“I am conflicted.” Harald shrugged. “I love your sister-“

“And you miss your wife.” Leif nodded. “Those do not have to be mutually exclusive.”

“Why do they feel like they do, then?”

Leif shrugged. “I do not know, but I know that Freydis and Mórag are very different and it makes sense for you to feel differently about them but it also makes sense for you to have similar feelings for them.” He paused, smiling. “I also know, as do you, that, as much as you love Freydis, you are on a very different path from her. Mórag is on your path.”

Harald nodded and was quiet for a short while. “You like my wife’s freckles, then?”

Leif hummed. “They are cute.”

Harald grinned. “I feel like I should hit you for saying that, for even noticing her freckles.”

“I don’t see why you’d have to.” Leif chuckled. “You like her freckles as well. I remember you saying so in London.”

“I do like her freckles.” Harald smiled. “They are cute.”

“Who are you?” The man seated next to his wife frowned and shoved to his feet.

Despite the circumstances, his wife seemed pleased to see him, which soothed his pride a little. “That is my husband, Lord Siward.”

The man paled and began shifting away for her.

“I am Harald Sigurdsson, husband of Mórag ingen Maíl Coluim of Scotland.” Harald frowned thunderously, all but growling. “Who are you?”

The man flushed. “I am Siward of Northumbria.”

Harald stalked forward, eyes on his wife and not on the shrinking Northumbrian. She sipped her wine, unhurried and unbothered. “And what is your business in my wife’s hall, Siward of Northumbria?”

Siward stuttered and shot a panicked look at Mórag. “We were… caught in a storm. Your wife offered refuge and hospital-“

His wife stood, cutting Siward off, and drained the last of her wine. She let the cup fall heavy on the table. “His business is much the same as your business, I’d wager, husband.”

The man paled and stepped back from the table, nearly tripping over his chair. “My lady! I wouldn’t dream-“

She laughed, turning to leave the hall. “Oh you dreamed of it, aye.”

“Mór! I’m not done talking to you!” Harald moved to follow her and paused at the table to turn a glare back on Siward. “Leave!”

The man nodded and left with shaking legs, calling for his men.

His wife’s maid, a woman whose name he could not remember, approached. “It is not as it appeared, m’lord-“

He cut her off. “Where would she go?”

“Likely to her solar.” She indicated the staircase.

He nodded and brushed past her, taking the stairs two at a time. He burst through the door at the end of the hallway, half expecting it to be locked. “Mórag!”

She turned to him, seated in a chair by the fire. “Harald.”

“Tell me, wife.” He sucked in a breath, trying to still his thundering heart. “Tell me, why is it that I return to my wife after seven years to find Siward of Northumbria in my place?”

She laughed and Harald’s blood boiled. “If that is your worry, husband, be at ease. Siward would be but a pale imitation, if that were true.”

He flushed down his neck. “If? I saw it with my own eyes! You said it yourself, that he was there to replace me!”

She made a face. “No, you said that, husband. I said that his business was the same as yours.”

“Aye!” Harald threw up his hands in frustration. “I am here for my wife!”

She tsked and looked at him as if he were a child. “You are here for my men and my wealth, just as he was.”

“He wants to bed you!”

“Aye, he does.” She shrugged. “But he wants to oust Nori from Northumbria more. I will not be shamed by a man who abandoned me seven years ago.”

“I did not abandon you.” Harald grunted, squeezing at the bridge of his nose. “So you allowed him into your bed? For what?”

She glared at him. “I have been faithful to my vows, the same cannot be said of you, I’m sure.”

He pulled away, hurt despite expecting it. “Mórag…”

“Do not say my name as if it means anything to you. What right do you have to be here questioning my virtue?” She sneered. “He may have wanted to fuck me, my lord husband, but that does not mean I would’ve let him.”

He paused, reason breaking through anger. “Why allow him into your hall at all?”

She sighed, put out as if she was explaining something obvious to a child. “He is the hereditary ealdorman of Northumbria, Mercia’s and Scotland’s largest rival. Should he succeed in taking back Northumbria, he will be a powerful man. I am not so invincible that I can be outright rude.”

“What do you mean?” He frowned. “You have an army to protect you.”

“I am a Viking’s wife, an unwanted wife, and a Scotswoman.” She picked at her sleeve absently and fiddled with her torc. “I am surrounded by enemies on all sides and my reputation is threadbare at best.” She bit at the inside of her cheek. “While I do not care much about my reputation, I cannot afford to make enemies.”

“Mórag-“

She shook her head. “Now, playing the grand hostess for the likes of Siward of Northumbria is exhausting and I would like to retire.” She stood. “I’ll have Ailis prepare a room for you.”

“No need, I will be sleeping with my wife.” He grinned. “After a bath, of course.”

She looked sad. “Do you really think I would let him into my bed? Is that why you want to sleep with me? In case I invite him back?”

“What?” He huffed. “I want to be with my wife who I have always remembered fondly. I want to sleep with you because you are beautiful and I remember you smelling good. This has nothing to do with Siward of Northumbria.”

She frowned. “The army is yours by right. What are you playing at?”

“It has been seven years, Mórag. Seven years of fighting and dying.” He swallowed, knowing he had no right to feel so hurt. “Do you not believe that I would miss you?”

She blinked as if blinking away tears. “No, I do not.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll have Ailis prepare me a room, then. Good night.”

“Wherever you go, wife, I will follow.”

She woke with tears already squeezing around her throat. Her husband’s arm was heavy over her side and she resisted the urge to trace her finger over the darker, fresher designs etched into his skin.

She had purposefully found a small, ill-fitted room in an unused part of the keep to sleep in. It seemed Harald had tracked her there.

She bit her lip, near drawing blood to avoid shedding tears.

She had entertained fantasies of him coming for her for a year, maybe even two, against her better judgement. She knew he wouldn’t. She knew he was likely dead or using her absence to live the life he wanted with the woman he wanted.

She knew this and yet, she desperately wanted to be wrong, wanted him to come back for her, not for her men or her coin, for her. She wanted to be wanted by him. She wanted to be seen and wanted for who she was and not what she was.

And yet… here she was.

She must have made a noise, Harald shifting against her on the small bed. “Mór?”

She bit her lip against, iron in her mouth telling her that she had broken the skin. She shoved his arm off of her and fled the room.

“Good morning.” Harald set his hands on the table in front of Angus and a teenaged boy he did not know. “Where is your lady?”

Angus shrugged and shoved a piece of bread in his mouth. “I know not, m’lord.”

“Really?” Harald grinned. “Then where is your brother?”

Angus smiled. “Bhaltair is training some of the younger men.”

Harald frowned. “Training some men?”

“Aye.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere. I do not know, m’lord.” Angus shrugged again.

Harald shoved from the table. “I see.”

“Aye, ye do.”

The boy smiled. “Mayhap the stables will provide you more information, m’lord.”

“Fergus!”

Harald grinned and reached over to squeeze the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, Fergus.”

The stables did have the information he needed and the horse he would need to find Bhaltair and his wife, which took longer than he expected.

His wife had found a remote outcrop, no more than a pile of rocks and grass, which looked out over Tamworth. He dismissed the stable boy who had led him there and led his horse to the patch of grass two other horses grazed at.

A few feet up the rocky hill, sat Bhaltair, plaid pulled up over his head. He glowered down at Harald but remained silent.

“I was told you were training men, Bhaltair.”

The redheaded man’s frown did not waver. “I am, m’lord.”

“She is up there then?”

Bhaltair shook his head. “She does not want to see you.”

“I know.” Harald nodded, swallowing. “I need to speak with her. I must repair this.”

“I will not allow her to be hurt.”

“I do not intend to hurt her. I never have.”

Bhaltair leveled a hard stare at him. “But you have hurt her. You abandoned her, left her undefended.”

“I did not know-“

“That is a poor excuse. You could have guessed what a Viking’s rejected wife would have experienced. You didn’t care.”

“I never rejected her. I sent her away to keep her safe.” He swallowed dryly. “She is a she-wolf! Strong and ferocious! I would not have assumed she would’ve been hurt by petty-“

“Do you know what they called her when she returned?”

Harald shook his head, gut twisting as he waited for him to speak.

“Och. Well.” Bhaltair shook his head. “I nearly lost m’head defending her name, I’ll not repeat the slander.”

“Thank you for your defense of my wife.” Harald sighed heavily. “I appreciate what that must have cost you.”

“Do ye?” Bhaltair considered him coolly. “Men attempted to bribe and cajole me for an hour alone with the Lady of Mercia, would threaten and demean me when I told them no. Men would drag the Princess before Canute, charging her with all sorts of demeaning falsehoods when she rejected them. I have a crick in my back for nights spent sleeping at her door so her suitors would not try to take what she denied them. Angus has experienced the same, if not worse.”

“What?” Harald’s blood boiled. “She is married.”

“Aye… they were aware.”

“I did not know.” Harald put his hand over his heart. “I swear. I thought she would be safe.”

“Now you do.” Bhaltair sighed. “I will not allow you to hurt her again. She is a she-wolf, aye, but even a mighty wolf can be brought down by a well-placed arrow.”

“I understand.” Harald nodded. “I still need to speak with her.”

“I’ll pray she doesn’t push you off the cliff.”

Harald nodded and started up the hill, only to find himself hesitating when he reached the top and saw her.

She had been crying, eyes red and raw, and was sitting back against a boulder, airisaidh pulled up over her head and wrapped around her to keep her from the chill. She looked fragile and alone.

“Bhaltair says that you have been treated ill-“

“Bhaltair talks too much.”

He smiled. “I don’t think any of your kinsmen can be accused of talking too much.” He glanced at her hoping for some small amount of humor. She refused to look at him.

He breathed deep. “I’m sorry, Mórag. If I had known, I would’ve-“

“Left me in Norway somewhere while you carried on with Freydis?” She scoffed. “Shockingly, not much better.”

He moved closer. “I am sorry, Mór. I never intended for you to experience any sort of hardship for me. I wanted you to be safe.”

She turned away, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. After a moment, she straightened and took a deep breath, still turned away from him. She gathered her airisaidh around her, shielding her face.

“Mórag…” he moved to sit next to her, she shifted away. “I’m-“

“I’ve asked Alastair to prepare the men. Your army will be ready to depart within the week.” She arranged her skirts around her feet.

“I don’t need your army, Mórag. I already have an army.” He smiled, trying to catch her eyes.

“Excellent.” She stared out into the mist, tone deadpan. “Now I have even less of an idea why you are here.”

He sighed. “I am here for you, like I promised.”

He had clearly said the wrong thing as she turned away again, this time clearly angry.

“Wife, I do not wish to upset you, or hurt you. I never wished to be the cause of your pain. To know that I was, shames me.”

She shook her head. “What do you expect me to say, Harald?”

He winced and shrugged. “What you are thinking? How you are feeling?”

She sucked in a breath. “I think you are here for my gold and my army. I feel…” swallowed and shrugged. “Everything. I feel everything. Angry, exhausted, powerless, afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“What?”

He swallowed. “What are you afraid of? Of me?”

“No.” She frowned. “I am afraid of how it will be when you leave again. What it will be like to be twice abandoned.”

“You need never fear that again. I promise.” He sighed. “I know I have no right to expect anything of you-“

“That is not true.” She moved her hands away from his when he reached for her. “You have many rights. You have the right to my wealth and my possessions, my army, my body. You don’t seem to want any of that, so what do you want?”

“My queen.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “I want my wife.”

She breathed deep. “I will be ready to leave within the week.”

He shook his head. “I do not want to rush you, Mór.”

“Then what do ye bluidy want?” She seemed shocked by the sound of her own voice.

He seemed almost frustrated. “You!”

She sucked on her tongue. “Do not lie to me.”

“Why would I lie about wanting you?”

She threw her hands up, tears in her eyes again. “I dinna ken! I dinna ken what ye could gain from it! All I know is that ye dinna want me! Ye sent me away!”

Sucking in a breath, he leveled as earnest a look as he could on her. “I did want you, even then.” She moved to speak and he held a hand up. “I was in love with Freydis, that is true, and because of that, I acted dishonorably with you, disrespecting the gift you gave me. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you.”

“You don’t understand!” She huffed. “This isn’t about Freydis Eriksdotter.”

He nodded. “All right. I want to understand. Will you please explain it?”

She stared at him for a long while, as if she was trying to decide if he was trustworthy. It hurt, but Harald kept that to himself.

“It stung, of course, Freydis Eriksdotter. But not for the reason you seem to think.” She sighed. “I am competitive and possessive of my family, I know this, and while

I’m sure that made everything more intense, it was not about jealousy. You met her before me, I can understand the difficulty in loving someone you cannot have and then having to marry someone you do not know.”

“Did you have that experience as well then?”

A look of utter grief passed over her face. “No.”

“Mór.” He tried to gather her closer, nodding when she put a hand out to maintain distance.

She took a deep breath and glanced up at him. “I was not concerned about Freydis, not beyond my own pride leastways.” She paused. “You said you were listening, that you understood what Muintir thar gach uile ní meant. And then you sent me away. You didn’t want me, that was clear. My gold and my army, but not me.”

He swallowed. “That was not my intention. If you had stayed, you would’ve been in danger. Your men would’ve been killed, and likely you’ve been forced to marry Olaf. I now know that Sveyn Forkbeard arrived in Kattegat soon after we fled, but I didn’t know that then. I would not knowingly leave you in that danger.” He smiled. “I know that you are a she-wolf but even you can’t stand before an army alone.”

She shrugged. “I do know that. I know there were few options, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”

He caught her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mór.”

“Why do you call me that?” She sniffed.

He looked down at his hands, the rejection stinging. “If you do not wish me to call you that, I won’t.”

“It’s a pet name. It denotes affection.”

“I feel affection for you.” He shifted his hand down to lay over her hands. “So that is appropriate.”

She bit her lip and looked away. “I don’t know why you are so committed to this charade. I would not deny you of what is yours by right. You gain nothing by pretending.”

He sighed. “I do not lie.”

She shot him a look, like she was trying to be gentler. “I have heard nothing from you for seven years, Harald. I am not a fool.”

He frowned and reached up to turn her face towards his. “You are not a fool. I could not easily send you letters where I was. And I wasn’t sure my letters would be welcomed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Some small note letting me know that you were alive would not have been rejected.”

“That is fair. I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “Alright.” She was quiet for a long while. “How is Freydis?”

He made a face. “I have heard many rumors but I do not know for sure. She may be dead.”

She swallowed, passing her hand over his. “I’m sorry, Harald.”

“I do not wish to upset you, but you have a right to know.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

“She had your child.”

He nodded. “How did you know?”

She smiled softly. “I didn’t, you are easy to read.”

“I’m sorry-“

“No more apologizing. A child is normally what happens when you have frequent sex with someone.” She chuckled. “I would’ve been more concerned if you two hadn’t had a child.” She shrugged. “So what is next? Do you find your son and Freydis?”

He shook his head. “No, we take back our kingdom.”

She watched him, but seemingly came to a decision, smiling softly. “Well, I hope you don’t regret our marriage, you’d be stuck with me then.”

He frowned. “Why would I ever regret marrying you?”

She shrugged. “I’m rude, difficult, stubborn, acerbic. I’m not Freydis. You didn’t want to be married. Any number of reasons.”

He smiled. “You didn’t want to marry me either.”

“It's different, marriage is a prison for women.”

“I see. I have been to prison. I hope our marriage is nothing like that.” He chuckled. “I did not want to marry but I have never been sorry I did.”

She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “I have already told you that I am not fool enough to believe pretty words.”

Smiling, he brought her hand to his lips. “I could never regret you, I think I knew the very moment I saw you. I saw that you were brave and strong, fierce. The Destroyer’s daughter.” He rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. “I respected you at that moment. I remember thinking that there was nothing that would make you flinch. If you were Norse, I would’ve thought you were a Valkyrie. I wanted you at the moment, beautiful, proud, flame-haired and I have never regretted having you.”

“Harald, I don’t expect love or loyalty.” She paused and swallowed. “But do not bring me back to Norway to be the unwanted wife there. I’d rather be the unwanted wife here.”

He shifted closer to her, cupping her face in both of his hands. “I want you, Mòr. Fierce, stubborn, fearless, loyal. I want you. I do not think I could do what we are about to embark on without you. Not because of your army or your money but because you have the strengths I need right now.”

She hummed and he continued, grinning. “Mòrag ingen Maíl Coluim of Scotland, future Queen of Norway. I will not lie to you and say that I love you, but I believe I will. And I will never dishonor you again. I swear.”

She considered him for a long moment and then nodded.

He settled next to her against the rock. “I have missed you.”

She huffed a small laugh. “That I still don’t believe. You hardly know me.”

He grinned. “What I do know, I enjoy.”

She snorted. “Like what?”

“Your candor.” He made an expression almost like a wince. “I met many people on my journey, none as honest or straightforward as you.”

“There is a story there, I’m sure.” She shifted closer to him. “And it sounds a painful one.”

He cleared his throat. “It was, yes.” He swallowed. “There was a woman-“ he stopped and looked down at her. “I do not say this to hurt you.”

“You weren’t chaste these seven years?” She gasped. “I am aghast!”

He chuckled. “Fine. Alright.”

“I would hear of this woman,” she swallowed. “If you wanted to tell me.”

Nodding, Harald watched her face. “I had a brief affair with a… powerful woman in Constantinople. I discovered that she was using me and it didn’t end well.”

“The prison.” She laid a hand over his. “Thank you for telling me.”

He flipped their hands over and threaded his fingers through hers. “And what of you?”

She hummed, looking down at their hands.

“Bhaltair said that you were treated ill.”

She sighed. “He exaggerates.”

He moved his arm around her and gathered her closer. “I want to know. I want to avenge your honor.”

“That is unnecessary.” She swallowed. “No real damage was done.”

“Bhaltair says he slept outside of your chambers to protect you.”

Glancing up at him, she shrugged. “A few times.”

“Mòr, I am being serious. If you do not want to talk about it, I understand.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want to know.”

She was quiet, tense. After a while, she ducked in a breath. “Much of the last seven years has been difficult. Many assumed you had found something about me intolerable and had sent me back to Mercia because I was unsuitable.” Her mouth quirked in a small smile. “It was not a far leap for most people to make. I had never tried to be popular. The Saxons have always found me abrasive and rude.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Bhaltair said he nearly lost his head.”

“He punched an ealdorman.” She hummed. “He never did tell me what the man had said. I had to go and defend him in front of Canute.”

“He wouldn’t tell me either.”

“Mostly people would say things, insinuate more like. The kinder ones would tell me that you were likely dead and so I wouldn’t be breaking my vows. The less kind ones took my abandonment as a sign that I would be open to their advances. They often did not take my rejection well.” She sighed. “One time, the earl of Kent asked me to ‘show him what I had learned from my savage husband in Norway.’”

He grunted, angry. “What did you do?”

“Och, weel…” she grinned, catching him off guard. “I threw out the wine, filled all the cups with ale, and spent the night speaking only Norse. Everytime he would speak to me, we would yell ‘Skol’! Of course, most of my household doesn’t speak Norse fluently so it was a rather confusing night and we proved that the earl did not know the difference between Norse and Gaelic.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“And then later, when he, rather drunk and very angry, tried to follow me to my bedchambers, I broke his nose.”

Her smile answered his. “He tried to drag me before Canute, saying that I had assaulted him. I suppose he forgot that Canute himself was Norse-“

“And was always very fond of you.” He pressed his forehead back to hers. “What did Canute do?”

“Well, I explained the situation to Canute in Norse, of course.”

“Of course.” His voice had deepened and she shivered, prompting him to pull her closer, almost into his lap.

“Canute laughed and told the earl that he was lucky I had not done what my berserker had taught me, or else he’d have an axe in his head.” Her eyes were focused on his lips. “Agnarr offered to get me an axe so I could properly educate him.”

He kissed her, softly, gently, giving her time to pull away. When they separated, he smiled. “Your berserker?”

She smiled against his mouth. “Canute’s words.”

“I want them to be yours.”

“Maybe one day, they will be.”

His wife sat by the fire, gossamer-fine gown sheer enough to show him the tattoo that wrapped around her bicep. Ailis stood behind her, brushing through her heavy, wet hair. Ailis paused and bobbed in a quick bow. “M’lord.”

“Go to bed, Ailis. I will help my wife with her hair.”

Ailis, normally rather implacable, giggled and handed him the brush. “Aye, m’lord.”

When he looked up at Mórag, he found her grinning up at him. “You're going to help me with my hair, Harald?”

He nodded and pulled a seat up behind her. “I don’t see why not.”

She settled back in her chair, facing forwards. “I admire your courage, m’eudail, but I have a lot of hair and it can take hours to dry.”

He grinned and leaned forward and captured her ear lobe between his lips. She gasped and jumped. He placed a hot, open kiss underneath her ear, glorying in her stuttered breath. Mouth against her ear, he whispered, “I would be willing to do a great many things for hours alone with my mostly naked wife.”

He sat back in his chair and laughed when she shot an irritated look back at him. “Something wrong, m'lady? You needed help with your hair, yes?”

She made an obscene gesture and he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, laughing so hard he couldn’t keep upright. “I have missed you, wife. I have not laughed like that in many years.”

She hummed and he feared for a moment that she still did not believe him. “I missed you, too. Though you better get started on my hair. I can’t go to bed until it’s dry.”

He caught her eyes, hot and loaded with meaning, and smiled. “Yes, we can’t have you sleeping with wet hair, you may catch a cold.” He threaded his fingers through her drying hair, enjoying the heavy, rich feeling of her hair in his hands. “I can’t promise I won’t get distracted though…”

“Distracted?”

He smiled. “Distracted, aye. You often distracted me during my travels. I had a friend who I met on the way from Novgorod. Her hair was as red as yours and there were times especially in battle, where I would see her and think for a split second that it was you.”

She attempted to turn towards him and he gently directed her forward, continuing to brush through her hair. “Her hair was red?”

“Almost as red as yours, but not curly.”

“Was this the woman in Constantinople?” Her voice was quiet and he could feel her anxiety.

“No,” he paused. “No, I met the woman in Constantinople on the way from Novgorod as well, her name was Elena. The woman who sometimes reminded me of you was named Dorn. I never slept with her.”

She hummed. “I see.”

“I think I never thought of her that way because she reminded me of you. I don’t know if I could’ve handled the disappointment of her not being you.” He chuckled. “And she was never interested in me, either. In case, you are worried about that.”

She sniffed. “Why would I be worried about that?”

“Because you are prone to jealousy, whatever you say.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple. “She asked about you once.”

She swallowed. “And what did you tell her?”

“Leif told her that you were fierce, but kind to him. He said he liked your freckles. I told her that you were loyal and honest, but that you were a poor loser and prone to stubbornness. I told her I missed you.”

She turned and caught his eyes. “You really thought of me while you were away?”

“Yes.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “Every day.”

“Fondly?”

“Why is that so difficult for you to believe?” He pulled away, smiling. “At first, thoughts of you brought shame, sadness. I never forgot the look on your face in Kattegat.” He swallowed. “But as time passed, I remembered much about our time together. In difficult times, your voice would be in my ears, ‘make your choice and stand by it.’ I believe your voice kept me alive in those times. In small, quiet moments, when I was alone, I remembered you in my bed, remembered how passionate you were, how trusting…” he trailed off, risking a look up at her. “I remembered you fondly always.”

“I remembered you as well.” She smiled. “Sometimes fondly.”

He grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh? And yet it’s so hard for you to believe that I would miss you.”

“It’s not you I do not believe. I think I would distrust that from anyone, barring family.” She sighed and avoided his eyes. “I am not someone to miss, I think. I am someone to be rid of.”

He frowned. “Who told you that?”

“Eadric. He hated me.”

He wrapped a curl around his finger. “Then he was more of a fool than I thought.”

“Before the contracts were even drawn up, he told me that I was not an ideal wife. That I was lucky I was royal for no man would ever want me without my title. That if he was lucky, I’d die in childbirth and he’d have his son and be rid of me.” She laid her thumb against his lips when he tried to interrupt. “I know. You don’t have to tell me. He was no great judge of character and I know that his opinion means little but what he said seemed to confirm what I had been told most of my life.”

“Canute told me once that he thought you were everything I needed.” He pulled at the spiral and watched it spring back into place. “I took that to mean the obvious, but I see now how forward-thinking he was, how well he seemed to be able to catch a measure of a person. He said that our marriage would be a fine match of temperments. He was right.” He smiled. “I need you to keep me grounded-“

“And I need you to make me move.” She nodded. “I see. You are constant change and ambition and I am stubborn and resistant to change.”

He moved around her chair and knelt at her feet. “I am glad you are exactly who you are, you would not have survived otherwise.”

She leaned over to kiss him, small hands twisting in his collar and pulling him closer to her.

Following her prompting, he pressed himself against her, still on his knees, parting her thighs with gentle hands. He hooked his hands under her knees and pulled her to the edge of the chair.

He grinned as she clung to him, laughing breathlessly in his ear.

“Alright, wife, shall we break our fast?”

She elbowed Harald discreetly. “Play along.”

He cast a confused look at her, trying to catch her hand as she strode forward toward the edge of the dias. She caught Freydis’ eyes and tried to convey the same message to her.

“Do you have proof, pagan?” Mórag folded her hands in front of her, looking down her nose at Freydis.

“Proof of what?” Freydis’ head quirked to the side.

“That what you claim is true. That my husband slept with you. That this act produced a child.”

Freydis seemed to catch on. “I have my son.”

“Is he here?” Mórag held her arms out. “From what I’ve been told, the boy, if he exists, has hair as red as mine. Maybe he is my son.”

There was a small rumble of laughter.

Magnus frowned. “Why would the pagan have your son?”

She pulled an exaggeratedly conspiratorial look. “Maybe I hid him away there?”

Magnus shook his head, standing from his throne. “And you, a pious Christian lady, would do that? You would hide your son among pagans?”

She smiled. “I’m not saying I did. I’m saying neither of you have any proof, nothing to back up your scurrilous accusations.” She stared down Magnus. “Very convenient scurrilous accusations.”

Magnus scoffed. “I am not in league with the pagan, aunt.”

“Of course not.” She sneered. “I find it awfully convenient that you would be able to produce this woman at such an opportune time, but be unable to produce this child.”

He spluttered. “The child likely died in the plague that took Jomsborg.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient, as well?” She shrugged. “You have no proof. That you would use her to cast aspersions on my husband’s good name and seek her death in one fell swoop on such flimsy evidence is irreprehensible.”

Magnus threw his arms in the air. “She admitted it!”

Mórag rolled her eyes. “Aye, but she would, wouldn’t she? It would give her son the same claim as you.”

Magnus shook with fury. “I am the son of Olaf Haraldsson. I have a rightful claim to the throne.”

“Aye, so does her son, if she is to be believed. If this child exists, that is one more person who you have cause to delegitimize and be conveniently rid of.” Mórag smiled. “I will say you have one thing supporting your claim. You are just like your father.”

Magnus nodded, caught off guard. “Thank you for the compliment, aunt.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” She grinned wolfishly. “Olaf Haraldsson also thought he was smarter than he was and was perilously overconfident in his little schemes and deceptions.”

“My father once told me the same about you.”

She laughed. “Och, aye. I am arrogant. And?” More laughter from the crowd. “Unlike your father, I am not prone to deception, in fact, I am widely considered to be brutally honest. Aye?” She gestured to the crowd.

The crowd responded with a loud, “Aye!”

She hummed. “Additionally, unlike your father, I am able to back up my arrogance with action. I wonder, are you like your father in that capacity as well? All bluster and rhetoric and no follow through?”

Magnus tried to control his anger. “You didn’t like my father, lady?”

“No.” She smiled. “He was a twat.” She crossed herself lackadaisically, glancing at the bishop. “I’m sorry, a sainted twat.”

The laughter was louder this time, a few scattered chants of her name. She smiled and maintained eye contact with Magnus.

That same wolfish smile spread across her face again. “If you are going to use this rumor to malign my husband’s name and refute his rightful claim, I think you ought to try a little harder.”

Magnus ground his teeth and looked away.

She turned to walk back to Harald, triumphant, and paused. “Also, if we can’t trust her word concerning the boy, we ought not to execute her based on other evidence she has given. She is likely lying about that as well.”

Magnus grunted in frustration. “Control your woman, uncle.”

“Why would I do that? Control the She-Wolf of Scotland- the She-Wolf of Norway? What a waste.” Harald grinned and lifted her hand to place a hot kiss on her palm.

The crowd cheered raucously, some chanting ‘she-wolf.’

“Her tongue is likely to get her killed, uncle.”

“I’ll give you some advice.” Harald frowned, coaxing her into his lap. “If you want to survive long on your throne, nephew, you should not bait my wife. That was your father’s mistake.”

Mórag grinned savagely. “If only he had listened, probably wouldn’t have been quite so easy to steal my army out from under him.”

Magnus paled.

She cooed and leaned into Harald. “Did you forget, nephew?”

“Consider yourself warned.” Harald pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “My wife is more Viking than you-“ he paused and glanced at the other throne. “And she’s going to need somewhere to sit.”

“Mór!” He stalked into the long house, raking his hands through his hair. He saw Ailis and called her over. “I need my wife! Where is she? Is she awake?”

“Up here, husband.”

He moved into the center of the hall to look up at Mòrag on the second level. “What are you doing up there?”

She set a hand low on her swollen belly. “Looking through the baby things.”

He was baffled. “You are a Queen! Have someone do it for you.”

“Aye and I asked you, a king, to go get them for me and you decided not to.” She turned to shift through a chest of soft, well-worn fabric.

“I am hunting for boar for you! Because it is your favorite.” He took the stairs up to the second level two at a time.

“Aye, I appreciate your hard work, husband. I’d probably appreciate it more if your child wasn’t ramming his foot into my rib cage.” She winced and rubbed at her side.

Harald tutted and wrapped an arm around her, supporting her as if her legs were about to give way. She rolled her eyes, turned back to the chest and picked up a small pile of cloth.

“Are you in pain? Is the babe coming?”

“No.” She huffed. “Your giant son cannot get comfortable and he is constantly moving.” She smiled at him, betraying her irritation. “Just like his bluidy father.”

Harald smiled at her. “I still would like you to go downstairs, wife.”

She bristled when he took the pile of cloth from her and passed it to Angus, the red-headed man laughing as he closed and picked up the chest.

Harald jerked his head at the stairs. “Set it by the throne. She can get it from there.”

“I can get it just fine from here.” She groused. “I’m already up here.”

“So stubborn.” Harald tsked, leading her towards the stairs, one arm around her waist, the other hooked around her elbow. “If I have to carry you down these stairs I will, she-wolf.” He laughed when she turned away, glowering. “Besides, I need your help with something.”

They cleared the stairs and he led her to the throne, easing her down. She looked up at him and frowned, pulling at a disheveled curl. “Why does your hair look like that?”

He huffed. “I tried to do it myself. I did not want to wake you. It keeps getting in my eyes.”

She tried to suppress a smile. “There was a time you would regularly do this by yourself, husband.”

He leaned over to press a kiss to her lips. “Lucky for me, that time is not now and I have a wife that does it for me.”

“Aye, you are lucky… and spoiled.” She smiled and nodded, indicating that he should sit on the floor in front of her. “Ingegerd, go and get my hairbrush and a tie, please.”

Their daughter, fair haired and sweet, bounded into the hall, carrying the requested items. “Here, mama!”

Harald hooked his arm around their daughter, growling and pretending to bite her arm. Mòrag smiled and began to brush out his hair. Letting the soft voice of her husband and her daughter float around her, she sectioned his hair and began to braid it back from his face.

“What makes you think the babe is a son?”

She looked up, realizing her daughter had bounced off to play with her little sister. She grinned, pushing his head playfully to the side, and began a new braid. “I dinna ken. Maybe I scryed it.”

“Scryed it?” He grinned back at her. “My little pagan wife.”

She held her finger to her lips and indicated that he should move his head the other way. When she was done, she gathered the braids and tied them together. She brushed out the longer bottom half of his hair and patted his shoulder. “There. Done.”

His hair managed, he stood and turned, setting his hands on the arms of the throne. He leaned down and kissed her softly. “Thank you, my love.”

She nodded. “Of course, m’eudail.”

He held his hands out and helped her stand. “Let’s sit you somewhere more comfortable.”

She made a small noise of agreement and rubbed at her lower back. She leaned forward against him, setting her forehead against his sternum. She could hear the activity of the long house continuing around her, could visualize Angus and Bhaltair carrying in the chair from the bedroom, could see Ailis and Thyra spreading furs and blankets to make the chair more comfortable.

Harald helped her sit, before kneeling in front of her. “You’re going to give birth any day, Mór, I’d rather you not go upstairs anymore.”

She rolled her eyes and took the pile of fabric that Angus held out to her. “Fine. You’re so imperious, you’d think you were a king or something.” She turned to Thyra. “Can you bring me my sewing things please, seeing as I have been ordered to not move by my king.”

The blonde girl smiled fondly and bobbed in a brief bow. “Of course, your highness.”

“That’s right. No moving for the rest of your pregnancy.” Chuckling, he kissed her, deeper, more intimate. “I love you.”

She smiled and patted his cheek. “I love you too. Stay safe.”

He grinned. “You know good and well that nothing is going to take me from you.”

She nodded. “I do know. Now go get my dinner please, Viking.”

“You’re so imperious, you’d think you’re a queen or something.”

She made an obscene gesture and Harald laughed as he left to rejoin the hunting party.

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