Chapter Fifty-five

Enid threw herself down on the sand, her chest heaving, curls that had broken free from her braids clinging to her skin, but all she did was smile as Erik stood over her, one foot either side of her hips, that sword pointing at her chest and that grin on his face bright and light.

"You're getting better," he said, but she didn't answer, only brushing that sword away with her arm and laughing quietly to herself as he stabbed it into the sand, crouching over her and tilting his head to the side, watching her.

"Why are you doing this, Enid?" he asked. "Are you really just going to help Ivar protect his farm?"

She saw that light in his eyes, saw that smile on his lips fade just a little, almost like he was disappointed and for a moment she found herself wanting to give him an answer that he would like, one that would lift not just his heart but her own.

"What else can I do, Erik?" she asked. "I'm just a slave."

That head tilted even further, his eyes unblinking, that smile long gone as he stared at her, and she watched as his lips went thin, drawing a tight line across his face as his forehead furrowed into a slight crease.

"Oh, no! No, please no!" she heard, and then she wasn't looking at him, then she was twisting in the sand to lay on her front and stare at that woman behind them, all because she had spoken in English.

That woman was scrambling, reaching and turning around the well as she tried to grab at something. Enid could see that snapped and frayed rope hanging just above her and the panic in the woman's eyes.

"Here, let me help," she said, racing to her feet and running to the well as the woman looked at her, her eyes big and wide, her face tight and pale.

"Thank you," she whispered, and Enid smiled to her, catching sight of that bruise along her cheek and trying not to stare at it.

Enid leaned over then, resting her hips on the wall of the well and reaching down with her axe to try to hook the bucket she could see floating in the water, but she couldn't reach it. She could only tap at the side of it and make it bob further away from her each time, so she tutted, leaning a little further, pressing her knees into the side of the well to keep herself from falling.

That was when she felt something trace her leg, trailing up her side before it tapped on her shoulder. She jumped up quickly, turning to glare at Erik, her axe gripped in her hand so tight her knuckles had gone white. He leaned on his elbow, that grin back on his face, his eyes still lingering on her side as he held up a grappling hook.

"This might help," he said, and her hands flicked out, snatching that hook from him as she tutted again, but he only laughed lightly, turning to watch her try to catch the bucket in the water.

"Sorry, master, sorry," the woman stammered, taking a few steps back and keeping her head bowed.

"It's just a bucket," Erik shrugged, but Enid saw her from the corner of her eye, saw how the woman's face went tighter and paler and how she winced when Erik spoke, and she saw her confusion, how she panicked when Erik leaned closer in front of Enid to look at her bruise. "That looks like it hurts," he said, and the woman shook her head, taking another step backwards, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Sorry, master," she whispered, and Erik's forehead furrowed in a slight crease, his eyes went somewhat cold and dark as he leaned in even closer, brushing up against Enid's chest and stopping her from collecting the bucket.

"You should've learnt our language by now, slave," he said. "Here," he took the hook from Enid and tossed it to the woman. "Get it yourself."

"Erik…" Enid sighed, reaching for the hook, but he held onto her arm.

"Let her do it, Enid."

Enid watched that woman shake, watched her pick up that hook and fumble for the bucket from the other side of the well, her eyes flicking, darting between Erik's face and the hook below her, her face scrunching up in a tighter and tighter wince.

"Is he going to beat me?" she whispered, and Enid's eyes went wide, turning to stare at Erik before she answered.

"No, I don't think so."

That woman nodded, slowly at first and then much quicker, and a little while later and she caught the bucket, pulling it up and holding it to her chest even though it spilled water all down her front.

"Thank you," she whispered to Enid.

"My name's Enid. I live in the longhouse if you need help learning their language."

The woman shook her head, her face going slack and pale, her hands clutching the bucket even tighter. "I have to work. If I don't, they get angry and… I'm not free like you."

"I'm not free," Enid shook her head. "I just learned their language. Things get better when you do."

The woman stared at her for a moment, her eyes resting on Enid's face before she shook her head again. "I don't think they will."

"You don't know that. You have to-,"

"I do," the woman cut in. "There's no point. They'll sell me soon, just like they did with all the others. You should find a way out of here while you still have the chance. They're evil people, Enid. Just like their gods. Don't let yourself be led into temptation."

Enid watched that woman go, something dull and heavy, something like an ache gripping her heart and for a moment she couldn't breathe, all she could do was stare as that woman disappeared back into the village, even when Erik sighed and turned to spit on the ground beside them.

"I was going to help her," he sighed. "But now she's upset you."

Enid turned to him, then unsure what it was that she felt, unsure what it was that she thought. She'd been happy, happy here with the children, happy here with Ivar, even happier when he'd held and kissed her, but was it temptation that she'd given into, even though it had only been a kiss, even though she hadn't embraced their gods or their beliefs? Erik flicked her forehead, so hard she heard the crack of his bone hitting hers, so hard she found herself scowling at him.

"What she tell you?" he asked.

"Nothing…" she shook her head, turning to stare at the last place she'd seen the woman and then she sighed. "She said you're evil."

Erik laughed then, so suddenly, so warmly Enid jumped at the sound. "I understand why she'd think that," he said. "I know her master. He has too many children and a wife with a temper," he added, and then he turned on his back, leaning both elbows on the side of the wall and smiling at her. "But what do you think?"

She stared at him, studying his face, her eyes lingering on his lips as that smile grew and grew. "I think you don't make sense," she shook her head. "You treated her like a slave, but you don't treat me like one."

"She acts like one," he shrugged, but that only had her staring harder.

Was that all it took? Could it really be that easy or was he just playing with her? She felt something cold then, something slither inside her and make her heart race. Or was he the one who'd betrayed the Jarl and now he was just using her to keep an eye on Ivar? He laughed then, this time softly, this time like it was almost to himself.

"You decide how people treat you, Enid," he said. "Whatever you accept is what people will do. She hasn't understood that, so why should I pretend like she has?" he shrugged, standing up and suddenly leaning in close, his face inches from hers. "Teach me your language," he said. "I want to be able to speak it."

"Why?" she asked, pressing her palm to his face until she'd pushed him away.

"I'll use it on the raids," he said. "And I want to spend some time in your country… Maybe I'll even have a farm there," he smiled, his hands reaching to cup the back of his head as he stretched, and she felt that chill grip her spine and her teeth clench together as she glared at him.

"You want me to help you raid my people?"

"Does that upset you?" he asked, turning to stare at her from the corner of his eye. "And they're not really your people anymore."

"Of course, they are. I'm-,"

"I never met an English woman who could fight," he cut in. "And I never met one who would stand here and talk with me. They all bow their heads and run like that one," he pointed his arm out towards the village. "You're one of us, Enid. The gods just decided that you would be born in England. Maybe someday we'll find out why."

"Your gods didn't decide anything," she said, standing in front of him and glaring. "They don't exist, Erik! They-!" she started, but that was all she could manage before her jaw clenched shut, her eyes fixed on that grin on his lips as he laughed softly to himself.

He was playing her. There was no doubt about that now, not when she saw that light in his eyes and the delight he took in stirring her anger. She pushed at his chest, knocking him back against the well as she brushed past him, but she could only take a few steps before she froze, her eyes fixed on something else, a stunning fear gripping her and making her hands shake. She took a step back, her hand reaching for an axe that was not there, her fingers fumbling at her belt for something, anything to defend herself with.

All because she was staring up at Rolf.