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“Thank you.” Tessa didn’t want to drink it – it felt like a waste of their limited sugar supply – but the first sip across her tongue was impossible to resist, and she drained off half the cup.

Rune hovered at her side, stroking up and down her spine. “Is it always going to be this way? Will you always…” He made a helpless gesture, brow furrowed with concern. The first time, he’d been so alarmed he was shouting when she came to, ignoring Erik and Oliver’s attempts to calm him until her eyes had opened.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “but I hope not.” She frowned down into her tea. “I fear it’s because I’m not as strong – magically – as Oliver and Náli. I’ve not asked Amelia, but I don’t think she sits around like a useless doll after she’s come to a conference beyond the veil.”

Rune dropped a kiss on her shoulder, and rested his chin there, afterward. “You’re not useless,” he said, automatically, staunchly supportive, even in the face of her self-criticism.

She smiled, and turned her head, so their cheeks brushed. His stubble tickled her skin.

“Learn anything?” he asked, breath pleasantly warm in her ear, scented with the sweet wine he’d been drinking earlier.

“I’m learning that your head is heavy.”

He snorted, and rested more of its weight on her shoulder.

“And I learned that you carried me back to our tent – unless that was Estrid? Or perhaps Magnus rushing to my aid? I couldn’t refuse it while I was unconscious.”

“No,” he scoffed, “it was me.” He lifted his head, mock-affronted. “Do you think I can’t carry my own wife?”

“I know you can.” She kissed the tip of his nose, which mollified him; melted his expression into something gooey and pleased. He was so terribly easy. Revna had assured her men only got easier.Until, she’d warned,they hit that age when they start really doubting their vitality. Then they’re fussy as old hens. Tessa figured she had a long while yet before it was time to worry of that.

“Where did you go this time?” he asked.

“To see Amelia.” And she told him of Amelia’s idea about the logging road.

He was frowning thoughtfully by the end. “You’ll have to tell Erik.”

“Yes. I was thinking of doing so now. Do you think he’s still awake?” Beyond the tent flap, the camp bore the air of contained chaos: supper, and changing watch shifts, and wine-fueled laughter around fires. She’d expected a march to war to be a somber affair, but instead, each night was more like a celebration: drinking, and singing, and story-telling, and men challenging one another to wrestling matches or sparring sessions. So far, the Northerners were living up to their jolly reputation as men who fought hard and played hard as well. She’d even seen a little of the camp followers, perched on knees, sharing cups…doing other things.

“Or,” she amended, do you think he and Oliver are…?” Her face heated.

He grinned. “Fucking?”

“Rune!”

“Well, that’s what it’s called, darling,” he laughed.

“Yes, well. I don’t like to think of Oliver like that. Or your uncle for that matter.”

“Do you think they like thinking of us that way?” he countered, single brow lifted.

“No one should think of anyone…doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Fucking,” she whispered. “Happy?”

“Very.” His grin turned leering, and he caught her around the waist, and hauled her up against him. “Shall we?”

She spluttered a laugh. “Really? Now?”

“Why not? Talking of it makes me want to.”

“A stiff wind makes you want to,” she said, and he smiled, unrepentant, before he kissed her.

“Is that a problem?”

She leaned in to initiate the next kiss, stomach melting pleasantly. “Not really, no.”