She turned to him abruptly he watched, her lip curled back over her teeth at him as she growled at him. Brows shot up, perplexed, because he had not been expecting it; and thusly never ever heard Thistle growl at him no matter how angry she had been at him - and she had been very angry with him before. To call this the welcome home he expected would be to outright lie. “What do they have to do with anything?” He inquired back at her, before he laughed softly figuring that this was a game. Surely, she wasn’t so mad at him. “What of them love?” It was a errant question, the endearment rolling off of his tongue mischievously, smirking at her. “Listen…” He took a step towards her, pausing only when she began spouting off some more. Things that made no sense to him.
Other women. Leaving someone pregnant with his children. Something about them being his brother’s and not his. “Listen,” He demanded of her again, his mirth rapidly depeleting as he figured out that she wasn’t playing with him. “I don’t know what you speak!” In his confusion and defense his English became a little altered, things not going in the right order - or missing words altogether. “No one was pregnant when I left.” He spat at her.
“I told you Sif wasn’t pregnant …what do you mean my brothers?” He demanded of her, his own anger rising to the heat of hers as he approached her brazenly, demanding she explain what she had meant. "Why are you so very angry with me?" For once, Ragnar did not actually do anything wrong that he could actually see.
