‘That sounds cold. Where would you put the hearth?’
‘Good point. That would be just for the summer then. In the winter, I’d build another roundhouse.’
‘You want to live in the forest? I thought warriors all wanted their own halls?’
‘I’ve spent enough of my life in great halls and I never particularly wanted to be a warrior. I just want a home...’ The comb stilled briefly. ‘I suppose I always thought I’d end up wherever Rurik was, but now I’m not so sure any more. I feel peaceful here. I feel peaceful with you. I know you don’t want to be around people, but would one person really be so bad? What do you think, Sissa? Would you object if I came back after I’ve fulfilled my oath?’
She sucked in a breath at the question. Would she object if he came back? He made it sound as if he wanted to come back to her. She didn’t know how to answer, especially when her heart and head were giving such conflicting opinions.
‘That still sounds strange.’ She changed the subject instead.
‘What? Your name?’
‘Yes. I thought I didn’t ever want to hear it again, that it would remind me too much of my parents, but I like it.’
‘Then I’ll keep saying it, Sissa. Would you pass me that chunk of bread please, Sissa? I’d be very grateful, Sissa.’
She rolled her eyes and reached for the bread. ‘I’m going to run out of supplies before winter at this rate. You eat like an ox.’
‘And you don’t eat enough. That’s why this is for you. Here.’ He tore off a chunk and placed it back in her hands. ‘Food isn’t just about survival, it’s about pleasure.’
‘What does pleasure have to do with it?’
He sighed. ‘You know, somewhere between the two of us is probably the right balance. My life has been too much about pleasure and yours has been too little.’
She made a harrumphing sound, accepting the bread and taking a bite.
‘It applies to other things, too,’ he carried on, still combing. ‘You’ve been too independent while I’ve relied on people too much.’
‘You talk all the time...’
‘...and you haven’t spoken enough. We’re two extremes. We should either hate each other or—’ He stopped before he could finish the sentence. ‘Well, we can be friends anyway.’
‘Yes.’ Her throat seemed very dry all of a sudden. The way his hand was caressing her hair felt more than friendly...
‘Could you tell me another story?’ she asked, stalling for time again.
‘So you do like my stories.’ He sounded pleased by the request. ‘In that case, do you know the one about Kjarten, the warrior prince who defeated Uradech, the great troll of Alba, using just one finger?’
‘No.’
‘Neither do I. Shame.’
‘Very funny.’ She reached an arm behind her back to swat at him. ‘A real story.’
‘All right. This one is about Fell, the blacksmith who forged golden rings so beautiful that all the princesses in all the lands wanted to marry him.’
‘Just so they could have beautiful rings?’
‘I expect he made other things, too. Bracelets and necklaces probably. Some women value such things.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course he was tempted. Who wouldn’t be? But his heart yearned for another, a thrall named Astrid who cared naught for gold or jewellery.’
‘I like the sound of her. Did she care for him?’
‘Oh, yes. Conveniently, he was a very handsome blacksmith.’
‘Then why didn’t he just buy her with one of his rings?’
‘Well, now you’ve spoiled the ending.’