brave in the heart. vikings

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
schemes

It felt strange for Bjorn to stride across the tent and wrap an arm around her waist with such ease, yet even still it felt familiar. Merida had to smile, as looked down at her, a grin on his young face. He was shaking his head in disbelief at something, and when she asked, he only said. "We could see the fire from here."

Merida pulled away, eyes accusing. "You were supposed to be resting."

"I'm done with that. I will rest when I'm dead."

She feared it would be true. The wounds on his body had not yet healed into scars, and already he was eager to rejoin the fight. His clothes were still torn, and speckled with blood, but his face was pale and taunt with apprehension. There would be no arguing with him, no convincing him of staying to lay dormant in bed. Even a kiss and a promise would not quieten his rage for battle when the war sang in his very blood.

But how could she complain? Merida had been such a way with him once, not so far off in Wessex.

'I will walk from here myself, even if it takes the whole damned day.'

Too stubborn she'd been to ever let herself admit she was too hurt. But Bjorn had never stopped her. He'd fetched her a branch to lean on and stood on her left.

'Then I will walk beside you,' he'd said, stirring something inside her that had felt foreign then but so familiar now.

"Then I walk beside you, Bjorn," she said, placing a hand against his cheek. His skin was warm, soft, and clean of the blood and dirt of battle. She wondered if he remembered the words she now held so dear. "My protector."

Bjorn smiled, the expression easing her worry, but it was his soothing hands, rough but soft in touch, moving across her back that eased the tension of her shoulders. Slowly, he leaned in, placing a kiss against her lips which soon turned hungry. Fate be damned, she kissed him back, hands wrapping around his neck, feeling the cool touch of his skin. It felt electrifying, something divine, yet something to keep secret.

The interruption came from outside as a loud burst of noise. Merida eventually pulled away, faces linger close before she nudged them toward the flap of the tent, leading to the commotion in the camp.

The soldiers came in upon horses, waving flags, foreign and blue. The Northmen rallied around them, weapons clanging against shields, voices carried loudly by the wind. It almost seemed to be the start of another battle scene, the shouts ranging long enough to sound like war cries. But as Merida and Bjorn stepped from the tent, the white flag came into view.

Bjorn pushed forward, a slight limp to his step but with shoulders widened and squared. Merida could do nothing but follow, hand clenching around the carved bear at her throat.

"Sinric. I am saddened to see you a prisoner," Ragnar shouted from where he lay beside a drenched fire. "After all, you're a wanderer."

The silver-haired man was pulled forward, hands bound in rope. The Frank beside him wore silver and chains, a thin red banner around his neck, embroidered in gold. He pushed the wanderer forward with a stern glare, standing as Sinric steadied himself.

"King Ragnar, the Franks want to discuss a way to end the siege."

"Why?" Bjorn asked, his stare level. At that moment he looked like his father. With the way she was looking at him, Lagertha seemed to agree.

"They believe it would be better for both sides," Sinric said, his own eyes flighty and unsure.

"Why would that be better for us?"