Chapter Thirty

She let out one last sigh, staring at her rippling reflection on the water surface and frowning. Now that it was free of the braids, her hair had somehow grown wilder, curling and rising until it framed her face in thick, red bundles. Only diving in this water would fix it, but she couldn't bring herself to do it when the river was so cold, much colder than she had ever felt it before, and Tyr was one thing, he was busy fishing, he'd already seen her, but she could hear them through the trees, those stragglers that Ivar had warned her about, laughing and drinking, the smell of meat on their campfires wafting down the path.

She'd have to wait until later, but that wasn't so bad, she could warm the water by the fire and sit in that basin. For a moment she was there, soaking in the steam and sighing, but then she remembered who'd been there the last time she'd done that and suddenly her cheeks were on fire.

So quickly she reached out, splashing cold water on her face and covering her eyes. Why did she have to think about him now? Why was she so wary of him when all he'd done was run his fingers through her hair and untie those braids? This time her sigh was more like a moan and she found herself curling and almost rolling into a ball on the soft riverbank.

"What's the matter, Enid?" Tyr asked.

"Nothing," she said, leaning back and dropping her hands, and then she saw he was still watching her. "Your sister's made a mess of my hair."

Tyr laughed, turning back to the water and searching for fish. "It doesn't look bad," he said. "You look like a shieldmaiden."

Enid watched him, not knowing if she should ask but desperately wanting to. Somehow to talk of her still felt like she was crossing a line, like she was adrift and could crash into something sharp and dangerous and suddenly find herself in ice-cold waters without any warning.

"Was your mother a shieldmaiden?"

Tyr looked up, his head tilting to the side, his face frozen and stiff, but then he shrugged, thrusting his spear into the water and catching a fish.

"No," he said. "She liked being on the farm." For a while longer he said nothing else, only watching the water like he was waiting for it to speak and then he said, "Hilda and Helga were born the same time… and they look the same. Hilda is a bit taller and has more muscles, but other than that…" he shrugged. "They look exactly the same, but they are also very different. My aunt is a famous fighter and my mother… Helga never asked for anything. She was always just happy here on the farm with us," he sighed then, his shoulders sinking slightly as he stared at the water.

"I'm sorry, Tyr. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," he said, looking at her and smiling. "Or sad. It's good to talk about her. It's just hard not to miss her when I do."

For a long time no one spoke, for a long while she found herself desperately wanting to reach out, to wade through those cold waters and hold him, but then he thrust his spear again, catching one last fish before he jumped to the riverbank. So easily he tossed it into the basket. So quickly he dived so that his head was resting in her lap and he was smiling up at her.

"Do you get sad when we talk about her?" he asked.

"Me? Why would I get sad?"

He shrugged, that smile still curling at the corners of his lips, his eyes staring up at the sky. "No reason," he said. "You help us a lot, Enid. I don't want you to think that it doesn't mean anything… I didn't like it when you said you weren't our mother."

"But I'm not, Tyr."

"I know that," he said, his eyes flicking back to look at her. "But you're not just a slave either, Enid. You're family now."

She felt it again, those tears pricking at her eyes, that blissful lightness that had gripped her heart at the sound of Frigga trying to say her name, but she turned away, desperately trying to not lose control, her teeth grinding together with the strain as Tyr laughed, a laugh that was soft, a laugh that was warm.

"I…" she whispered, but suddenly she had no voice. "I don't like the idea of replacing your mother. It makes me feel like I'm stealing you away from her."

"You're not," Tyr smiled. "You couldn't do that, Enid. She's still our mother, but I know she's also happy that you're here and she'll tell you that herself when you meet in Valhalla."

For a moment she cracked and she felt those tears slide down her cheeks and biting in the cold, autumn air, but then she shook her head.

"I don't believe in Valhalla, Tyr."

"Valhalla, Heaven…" Tyr shrugged. "Don't they sound like the same thing to you?"

"Not at all."

"They do to me," he smiled. "In my Heaven I know that you'll both be there waiting for me. And I'll be older and can drink all I want with you and feast and share my stories. And I can tell Helga everything I saw in England, so she knows where you came from, and then she can understand why you get so red sometimes," he laughed. "And I'll tell her not to mind. That you were the one who came when we asked the gods for help and you only ever did good things for us."

She couldn't stop them then, then they were dripping down her dress, falling into her lap and onto his cheek.

"Enid…" he sighed. "You're like a baby! Should I go get Freya and see if she'll bounce you around like Frigga?"

"Shut up, Tyr," she laughed, and he sat up, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and held her tightly. It was so warm there, so warm and peaceful, like she was coming home after a long day and her mother was busy in the kitchen, cooking and smiling.

"I don't want you to go back to England," he said, his voice muffled and soft, and she wanted to nod, she wanted to tell him that she'd changed her mind, but she couldn't. She still saw that house beside Cormac's shop when she closed her eyes. She still thought of everything that had been good in her life before coming here whenever she thought of staying. "Come on," he sighed, pulling away and jumping to his feet. "We should go back. Ivar's probably done now."