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The moment Stiorra decided to travel with Sigtryggr as his willing captive she had made the decision that she was his. No one had forced her hand, not King Edward or the Lady Aethelflaed, despite what her father believed. Stiorra was touched that Uhtred chose his daughter over the woman who currently had a special hold on what was left of his heart. She could see how more of it broke when she looked into his eyes and told him that she wanted to go. With Sigtryggr? Uhtred’s voice still echoed in her mind. Sigtryggr wouldn’t have demanded Stiorra to travel with him if he didn’t already know that was her wish.
Uhtred was so quick to remind Stiorra that she was her mother’s daughter but neglected the fact that she was also his daughter. The restlessness that she felt inside was all him. Her mother was wise, yes, but her cleverness is Uhtred through and through; something Finan was always reminding her of. She told her father that she wanted to see her mother’s people, that is true, yet she also wanted to experience how her father lived. The Saxons were his people but the Danes were his home and family. She knew that her father strives to be the father that Ragnar was to him, not her Saxon grandfather. Her mother was not the only one who was taken from her all those years ago.
“Stiorra.”
She was pulled from her thoughts from the very man who possessed them. Stiorra cast a glance over her shoulder and saw Sigtryggr standing a few feet behind her. She hadn’t realized how long she was beside the river for; it must have been long enough for Sigtryggr to interrupt her private moment with the Gods and Goddesses. He didn’t approach, waiting for her to come to him.
Sigtryggr always waited for Stiorra to come to him. She discovered quickly that Sigtryggr would only go so far before he left it to her to close the distance.
When Stiorra eventually made her way to him she could see the questions in his eyes. Questions he wouldn’t ask her. She was alright with it, she didn’t have the answers. Not to these ones.
“How long until Eoferwic?” Stiorra asked.
“Not long now,” Sigtryggr’s voice was soft and his breath warm against her skin. “We’ll be there in time for autumn.”
Stiorra wasn’t surprised that it would take them all of summer to travel. She did not mind, it allowed her time to get to know the man that had awakened feelings in her that she had never felt before. She knew that it would be a long journey. Sigtryggr had warned her that it would be some time before she saw her father and the rest of her family again.
My father has let me go, Stiorra told him. She told him no more and Sigtryggr did not dig for more, he did not ask. He understood the weight of the conversation and Stiorra had told him that once she explained to her father, that she truly wanted this, he would give her his blessing. Even if Uhtred had told her no, Stiorra would have still gone but she would have been missing a piece of herself.
Sigtryggr was her destiny and she was his. Just as Gisela was to Uhtred, Stiorra and Sigtryggr were entwined before they first met.
It was a few nights later that Stiorra finally gave in, surrendered to what her heart was demanding of her. They had made camp for the evening; a storm had rolled in not long after they set it up and so the camp was scattered makeshift huts. Sigtryggr had his own tent, of course , but he made sure to place his near enough hers. She had prayed to Frigga earlier that evening and she had answered. Sigtryggr was clear in his feelings for her, he was waiting for her to come to him.
It was easy to slip through the shadows when the only light came from the occasional flash of lightning. The Gods were with her. Sigtryggr didn’t have a man at his tent’s entrance, that is how loyal his men were to him. She took a deep breath and steadied her hands before she entered.
Stiorra couldn’t breathe. All that was within her escaped in a breathy sigh; Sigtryggr looked more handsome in the candlelight. He had only a few candles lit that provided some light in the tent. Stiorra hadn’t prepared herself for a shirtless Sigtryggr. At least not in this way but she made sure to keep herself steady.
Sigtryggr was sprawled on his bed furs, one arm pulled up behind his hand, the other laid limp at his side. His glorious reddish-blond hair fanned about him in soft waves, he had freshly washed. He did not seem surprised to see her.
Stiorra took one step forward, she did not take her eyes from his. She wanted this, she wanted him. When she finally reached the side of his bed, he sat up and grabbed one of her hands in his. He pressed their palms together before he slipped his fingers between hers.
When he looked up at her, Stiorra could feel a stirring in the pit of her stomach. He had never looked at her that way before. “I am yours,” Sigtryggr whispered, “Stiorra, I swear.”
Those were the only words she needed to hear.
Stiorra soon had her arms wrapped around his neck and his lips pressed against hers. It was the most the wonderful feeling she had ever felt and she thanked the Goddesses for this man. Sigtryggr had pulled her onto his lap and pressed his body against hers as she breathed him in. Soon Sigtryggr began to press soft kisses along her neck, trailing down the skin that was bare on her shoulder. He was so gentle. Stiorra had never known this type of kindness from men and she didn’t want to experience it with anyone else.
By the time they were done with their love making, they were a sweaty tangled mess of limbs on the furs and only one of the three candles remained lit. It was nearly spent itself. No words were needed to be spoken between them, the silence was enough. Stiorra laid her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he trailed his fingers through her loose hair. For once, Stiorra did not feel so restless.