The unwelcome

At first light, she woke to the sound of a scream so wretched it seemed to shake the walls.

Initially, she suspected a dying animal, yet its suffering felt undeniably human. Balder stood at the door, his body tense, a low whine escaping his throat.

She sat frozen, the sound still ringing in her ears.

Her breath caught in her chest, and her eyes darted to Thora, still slumbering in the bed nearby.

"No," she told Balder, who was whimpering and pawing at the door.

The dog's whine intensified; she firmly touched his head. "Guard Thora."

She rose and crept to the window. When she pushed the curtain aside, the scene below struck her like a blow.

There he was, her father, on his knees amid a gathering. His shrunken appearance showed a once-commanding man, now diminished, as if someone had stripped him of all dignity.

For a moment, she turned away, her back pressed against the cold stone wall. Her arms wrapped around her knees as she sank to the floor. She bit her lip, drawing blood.

Should she go to him? End this torment? He was powerless now, his voice carrying no threat, only desperation.

She found a black dress folded neatly. It had belonged to her grandmother, a strong woman. The fabric was heavy in her hands, but as she slipped it over her head, it was as though she donned her grandmother's spirit.

The weight in her chest lessened. Her spine straightened. This, she told herself, was armor.

Determined, she walked from the room toward the meadow.

She could hear the shouting from the crowd, her father's voice cutting through the air.

Erik tried to reason with him, but her father ignored him and instead called out her name desperately.

Sigrid walked between two large men and stepped into the circle. Her father stopped at once.

"My daughter!"

His wild hair and long beard made him appear unrecognizable, and it was clear he had abandoned all care for himself.

She met Erik, Leif, and Bjørn's uneasy gazes.

"Just listen to Erik. You're not welcome here."
Sigrid looked at her father, pain flickering in her eyes.

Gudbrand glared at Erik. "What have you said to my daughter?"

"He has said nothing, but you've never deserved his silence."

"How dare you say that, Sigrid?" His eyes narrowed in fury.

"Give us space," she said, then turned to the others. "Except for Bjørn."

Erik nodded, and the men stepped back. Bjørn remained, standing at a respectful distance as Sigrid moved closer to her father.

"What are you doing, daughter?"

"I'm surviving."

"Come home with me."

"No. I'm staying here." She straightened up and crossed her arms in front of her, like a shield.

"With my enemy? How can you do this to me? Of all my children, I treated you with the greatest care."

"You locked me away, sold me off like a pawn. I would have traded anything to be treated like my brothers."

He went silent, his face hardening. "This marriage is necessary, Sigrid. It's your duty."

"Duty? Do you understand what people are saying about him?"

"Rumors, your brother believes he's a good man."

"My brother? He only thinks of himself."

She turned her back on him. His voice darkened. "What happened between you and Ragnar Erikson?"

Sigrid froze. "What do you mean by that?"

"Your brother believes something happened between you and Ragnar."

"Thora has been by my side throughout, but if you or anyone trespasses on Erik's land once more, I will ensure that the entire village believes I have been with every man on this farm."

He paused, considering the threat's implications, and his voice softened. "What about your mother? And Åsmund? They miss you."

Her hands trembled, and tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She was strong, but the pain was undeniable.

"Take him away," she said to Bjørn, who gave a nod. It seemed he longed to embrace her but stopped and instead offered a gentle stroke on her shoulder.

As they left, she fled to the stable, alone, and let the tears fall.

It wasn't her family she hated-it was Sigurd. His cunning deceived them all.

Despite being praised as a good man, they refused to acknowledge the darkness within him. And now she paid the price.

"Are you alright?" Bjørn's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She hadn't noticed him enter.

"Yes," she sniffled, seeking comfort in his presence.

"You did the right thing," he said, his fist clenched before he caught himself. "Knut is a tyrant."

After a moment, she asked, "Do you think my father and Erik will ever be friends?"

"I don't know," Bjørn said and paused. "But they were actually close once."

"They were friends?" She asked, confused.

"They were until they both fell for the same woman... my aunt."

"Leif and Ragnar's mother?" She asked.

"Yes. A rare jewel. Her presence lit up every room she entered."

"That explains everything. I thought it was about land. My mother and father... they've only endured each other. There was never love. That's why I hate the idea of marriage."

Bjørn gently countered, "That needn't be."

She shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. She spoke, but he stopped her with a firm hand.

"I've spoken with Ragnar. It's all good."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"And you should know," he continued, "my nephew will always be a part of my life. His father died in service of the king."

Her heart lurched. "So the child is not yours, then?"

Bjørn's brow furrowed as he tried to piece together her confusion. "No. Wait," his voice sharpened, "why did you think that?

Her cheeks flushed, and she fidgeted with her hands. "Well... I might've gotten the wrong impression."

His eyes narrowed. "Let me guess-Ragnar said something, didn't he?"

She hesitated. "Uh... I don't remember."

"So you took the child under your name?" She asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yes, so he will have rights to my wealth, should I fall. My brother never had the chance to marry before he..." His voice broke, and he drew a deep breath. "Not a day goes by that I do not miss him."

"You did a noble thing. He'd be proud of you. You're a good man, Bjørn."

She met his gaze, and for a moment, it seemed the world held its breath. She caught herself and straightened.

"Where would you live if you weren't in the king's service?"

"I've inherited my family's farm in Inderøy. My younger brother helps my parents until I take over. It's a large estate."

"I've never been there," she said, intrigued. "Actually, I've never been anywhere."

"It's the most beautiful place on earth. Will you come with me?"

"Perhaps," she answered with a sly smile.

Thora, Leif close behind, called out Sigrid's name, shattering the silence.

"There you are," Thora said, embracing her.

"It's fine," Sigrid said, wiping away a tear.

After confiding in Thora and Leif, Sigrid felt a small weight lift from her chest. Yet, a lingering unease gnawed at her.

She had to find Ragnar. Whatever had happened the day before, she couldn't shake the worry. She needed confirmation of his well-being.

She searched everywhere, but to her surprise, Ragnar was nowhere to be found.

Later that evening, the soft glow of lanterns led her to the stable. There, brushing down a restless horse, she found Erik.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, glancing up with a furrowed brow.

"It's... not great," she admitted, hesitating. "But where is Ragnar?"

"I sent my son away for his poor choices. He needs time to reflect."

Her chest tightened. "When will he return?"

"That depends on him," Erik said, meeting her gaze. "When he proves he's ready to stand as the man he must become."

●●●

Bjørn offered stability, unlike Ragnar's turbulent nature. There was a calm in his company that she had not realized she craved. Without intending to, she let her guard down.

In moments of shared laughter, when their hands brushed or their conversations lingered longer than expected, she could almost forget the weight of the past.

Yet, whenever things grew intimate, a flicker of hesitation would stop her. She heard the judgment echo-what would others think?

Her breath caught whenever his gaze lingered too long, and she would retreat.

One crisp autumn morning, as the first hint of winter touched the air, Bjørn found her alone by the barn. His face was somber. His broad shoulders slumped, and there was a heaviness to his steps as he approached.

He declared his departure, his statement revealing a prolonged internal debate. "I won't be back until after winter."

Sigrid blinked, surprised. "Alright," she said, unsure of how to respond. Did he expect a proper farewell?

Bjørn hesitated, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. "I'll miss you," he blurted. "But I'll send letters whenever I can, so you'll know I'm thinking of you."

Her chest tightened. His words warmed her, but an unnamable ache also spread through her.

She glanced about.

A silence settled between them, heavy yet gentle. "Bjørn!" She called before he could turn away. Her voice was quieter than she expected.

He paused and turned. She hesitated only for a heartbeat before she crossed the space between them. She felt her breath catching in her throat.

As she reached him, she rose on her toes. He bent slightly, lifting her, and the world around them seemed to dissolve.

They kissed tenderly, unconcerned with time. A shiver ran through her body, igniting every nerve.

The shared moment held only quiet certainty, devoid of past or doubt.

His hands stroke her face gently. When they broke apart, her breath came in uneven gasps. She smiled, surprised at how her heart fluttered in her chest.

But he pulled her roughly to him again, as if awakened. His lips found hers with even greater urgency, the kiss deeper, more demanding. The intensity took her aback-but she returned it with equal force, just as fiercely.

"Thank you," Bjørn finally said, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. The intensity in his eyes left her speechless.

Sigrid bit her lip, her mind racing. She wanted to say something, but the words tangled in her chest. After a pause, she spoke, her voice softer than she had expected. "I'll miss you too," she admitted, surprised by the honesty of her own words.

He smiled. "Then I'll have something to look forward to. Wait for me, Sigrid."

As he turned to leave, she stood still, the taste of his kiss lingering on her lips. The memory of his touch, of his warmth, burned in her chest.

She wanted more-her heart aching with a longing she didn't know how to tame.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Bjørn disappeared from sight, leaving her standing there, the space between them growing wider with each passing second.

●●●