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| For a second, Ragnar thought Thistle had gone on another rant about him, and for reasons that he could not shake he thought that perhaps she was speaking of him. Ears slicked back to his skull like a child being reprimanded, panic quickening within his breast at the thought that Thistle, despite just saying that she was ok, despite agreeing to trying the polygamy relationship with him would leave him because she thought of him as the type of man she was currently ranting about. He didn't see the wrong with it because it did not lessen the love he felt for Thistle, nor he desire for her any and yet ...she didn't believe him. Had never truly believed him because she had had serious doubts about his words before Nerian had even came into the picture. Had that been a subconscious development borne of how Crete had taken through advantage of her? It was possible, Ragnar deduced. It was Thistle's touch, the brush of her muzzle against his brow that had brought him back to the surface of reality and out of his train of thoughts.
Thistle spoke that she knew that he loved her but didn't understand how she wasn't enough. Just as Ragnar had parted his lips to explain she cut him off and told him that she didn't want to hear an explanation. He desired to tell her; to speak that it wasn't that she wasn't enough. It had nothing to do with one woman being enough for him. He didn't think like that. It was an act of possessiveness, of wanting Nerian too, of not wanting any man other than him to have her or touch her. She was a free woman now, yes, but she was still his just as much as Thistle was his. He was a little miffed that she had opened the door to that conversation but then slammed it quickly in his face. "Junior is a little too rough and tumble for Gyda," Ragnar wasn't sure what to do for Gyda, his Viking Princess. She was so quiet and delicate and not very sociable that he wasn't sure if there was anything that he could do for her other than give her the attention she desired of him. |