Plug firmly seated between my reddened cheeks under my best gown, I greeted Wulfgar at the door. The big warrior looked tired, lines of care falling away when he saw me approaching with a horn of mead. He took it silently and drank, his eyes never once leaving my form.
“Thank you,” he said when the horn was empty. “How are you, Muriel?”
“Well, my lord.” After my punishment, I felt it was best to stick to old formalities. I’d been on my best behavior with Fergus all afternoon. I made bread and meat stew, cleaned and swept the hearth, and shook out the pelts on the bed. The red-haired warrior had kissed me and left to take a patrol around the perimeter minutes before I heard Wulfgar’s footfalls on the stoop.
“Something smells good.”
“I made dinner.” I backed away, putting the table betwe
