Ragnar did not pin Thistle for the cheating type, given how adamant she had been about making it absolutely clear that she would not tolerate him sleeping with another woman - going so far as to even promising him that she would kill him. Slowly. Painfully. Silently. It was terms he had agreed too the day they had become husband and wife, agreeing that it was only fair. It was the fact that she saw adultery to be an abomination (or rather this was how Ragnar assumed Thistle saw it) that the thought that she might cheat had never once, and still did not, enter his mind. Diluculo could spin her plans but Ragnar bestowed faith that Thistle would not fall for them, nor her, in hindsight; and further that his overbearing personality would shield his children from falling prey to a culture he did not want them to know. They were Vikings and if Ragnar were to ever catch her spinning things into his children’s ears there would be trouble and his regard for Pump and her superiority over him would be thrown out the window. The only reason it had not been disregarded yet was because she held something he wanted over his head how a child taunted a dog with a treat.
Even then Ragnar would only take so much taunting with patience learned during his time as Jarl. It would wan thin, eventually. If it was not already beginning to do so.
He watched her leave with clear disdain upon his face, lip curling back as he regarded the Viper’s left over bones with an equal amount of disdain that he bestowed to her. After assuring she wasn’t going to double back for another round of insults at him he turned and headed back to his patrols.