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“Where are we going?” Athelstan asked.
Ragnar smiled over his shoulder. “Come on.”
Sighing, Athelstan pressed his lips together.
“Don’t make that face. You’re not my wife,” Ragnar teased.
“Be thankful for that,” Athelstan groused in return. “I would have already cut off your prick.”
Ragnar laughed and threw a stick at him. “Would you now? I would never have thought you a jealous lover.”
“Then consider this your only warning.” Athelstan didn’t think he blushed, only a little, perhaps, but the smile was harder to contain. He bit his cheek to keep his frown in place.
Ragnar laughed again, softer, warmer. “I will take that to heart.”
They walked on in silence, Ragnar leading the way on what Athelstan could now see was a marked path. Set several paces apart, along the eastern side, were stones no larger than his head. They were decorated with carvings of intricate knots and beasts of the forest. There was the raven, the fox, a wolf, and an ermine and if Athelstan had not noticed the first one, he would have never seen the rest.
“Ragnar, tell me where we’re going.”
His curiosity had the better of him, for there was no plea or placation added. It was a demand, no matter how gentle it was. Something a free man would do. He could not prevent his smile now.
“We’re here,” Ragnar answered, stepping aside. He raised his arm towards the end of the path and the clearing it had brought them.
In this clearing was a small house. Its thatch was newly cut and bound tight, the wattle and daub packed into every crevice to keep out the cold night winds. The door was the same strong oak as the planks and was surrounded by carved runes for protection, prosperity, and fertility. Atop the door, also carved with knots and runes, was a stag’s skull. Its horns rose all the way to the crossed beams of the frame. There was no indication of its occupant, no furs nor jars nor chests, though the door was open just a crack.
“A free man needs land,” Ragnar said at his shoulder. “And a home of his own.”
Athelstan turned to face him. “What?”
Ragnar grinned. Beneath the humor there was great affection and burning want. These things were not new, but there was something in Ragnar’s eyes that Athelstan had never seen before. Something like respect.
The answer then was clear.
“You're giving me a house?”
Ragnar clapped him on the shoulder and then his hand cupped his neck. “It isn’t very big, but it’s sturdy and warm.”
Athelstan was speechless.
“It will house you, maybe one or two others if you don’t mind them underfoot. When you take a wife, you will be able to make it larger,” Ragnar said. His thumb traced up Athelstan’s jaw, ruffling then smoothing his whiskers.
“Wife?” was all Athelstan could say.
“I will find you a comely maid, Athelstan. A strong girl who will give you many sons.”
“Sons?” This came out as more of a squeak.
Ragnar stepped closer and held Athelstan’s head between his hands. “You must have sons. They will carry on your name.”
“I’m not ready for sons, Ragnar. Or a wife,” Athelstan said, hating the return of his timorousness.
“There is no hurry, just now,” Ragnar said, brushing a kiss across his lips.
Athelstan opened to the kiss, yielding with a quiet moan. When Ragnar pulled away, he was less alarmed and more grateful for the gift.
Also, more aroused.
“Is there a bed in my home?” he asked, his cheeks coloring even as the words left him.
Ragnar gave him the look that never failed to quicken him. “Does it matter?”
Athelstan smiled and took his hand. As he moved towards the door, he answered, “Not a bit.”