He needed to take her home, to get her into dry, warmer clothes before she caught a cold. The thought planted itself firmly in his mind as he finally released her from his hold and turned to retrieve his discarded shoes from the grass. Once they were securely on his feet, he returned to her side and carefully draped his coat over Circe's trembling shoulders, gently guiding her arms through the sleeves.
The heavy fabric wouldn't do much to keep her warm, not while she was still soaked to the bone, but it was better than nothing at all.
Without warning, Ragnar bent down and swept her into his arms again. He made sure she was secure before moving away from the pond, his steps steady despite the weight of her and the tension coiled in his limbs.
Circe didn't fight his touch. She didn't protest or flinch away. That was unlike her. She remained oddly still, her body lax, her mind clearly adrift in places he couldn't follow.
