As she made her way back to Ravensthorpe, Randvi waits for the guilt and shame to overtake her.
It never does.
Instead, she is grateful for the solitude of the countryside. It would not do for anyone to spread rumors of a manically grinning Norse woman haunting the land.
Randvi feels happier then she has in years, lighter somehow, body still tingling from Eivor's clever fingers and tongue. It was a far different feeling from her marriage bed.
Sigurd is a good man and she does hold a certain amount of affection for him. He is a brave warrior who cares deeply for his clan. She could have loved him for that, if not for his distance. Oh, he performed his marital duties well enough, but that was all it was to him, a duty that left her unsatisfied even as she found her own release.
But Eivor...a shiver went through her and Randvi smiled wider still as she touched her lips, still swollen from the other woman's passionate kisses.
She remembers the day she had first laid eyes on the both of them, standing on the docks of Fornburg as her father's longships arrived for the peace negotiations. Sigurd stood tall and proud, looking every inch the king he would one day be. Beside him was his famed foster sister, Eivor the Wolf-Kissed, with hair as dark as the raven that perched on her shoulder.
“God Touched, that one,” her father said quietly as she stepped from the long ship. “A pity she was not born a man.”
Yes, she remembers thinking, unable to take her eyes off the other woman. But Sigurd was her intended, if all went well, so Randvi had pushed those thoughts aside. Or so she thought.
It was Eivor who had been tasked with entertaining her while the men negotiated, introducing her to Fornburg and its inhabitants, and spinning tales of her and Sigur's childhood among them, ale in hand.
It was Eivor who had become her closest friend in the years Sigurd was absent, worming her way into Randvi's heart with every crooked smile and every laugh in that low, husky voice. There were times when Randvi could almost think Eivor felt the same.
There were the quiet looks when Eivor thought she wasn't looking, the heavy pauses during their late night talks and the occasional red haired woman left smiling and cow eyed after a night with Eivor. But, in the end, nothing had come of it and Randvi thought her too loyal to Sigurd to see her as anything else then a close friend.
But now, with Eivor's confession ringing in her ears, Randvi finally had her answer.
As the roof of the longhouse came into view, Randvi took a moment to compose herself. They would need to be careful, she knew. There were eyes all over Ravensthorpe, Dag's most of all.
That thought was sufficiently sobering. With a sigh, Randvi made her way to the long house, busying herself with the work she had neglected this morning.
“Randvi?”
Eivor's voice brought a warm smile to her lips and she turned with words of greeting only to have her smile falter at the guarded look on the other woman's face.
“You...you left without a word.”
Fool, she curses herself. What she must think of you. “I know love,” Randvi murmured, taking Eivor's calloused hand in her own. “But I needed time to gather my thoughts.”
“What wisdom did Mimir grant you?” Eivor asked, tension bleeding from her shoulders.
“That I want this. I want you. And that you snore like a wounded bear. It's adorable.”
'That is a lie, Randvi!” Evoir's laughter is full of relief and her smile as bright as the sun. Before Randvi can respond, Eivor pulled her close, mouth capturing hers in a hungry kiss, before trailing across her jaw.
“Should we take this to your chamber?”
The low murmur against her ear sent a delicious shiver down Randvi's spine as heat pools between her legs. She leaned back against the table, smirking a challenge.
“Hm. No need.”
As Eivor's eyes darken in lust and scrolls tumble to the floor with a sweep of her arm, Randvi laughs in delight.
To Hel with careful.