Chapter Fifteen

Enid gasped as her foot hit the water, and for a moment she didn't think that she could do it and she almost wondered if she should just wait until spring, but Tyr was right, she could feel the air changing, a bitter, biting cold seeping into the earth and the water and she knew she was running out of time.

She took one more deep breath, steadying herself on the riverbank before she waded out and dived. She cried out, her chest heaving, shivers shaking through her spine and making her insides sting. So quickly she washed her hair, so quickly she scrubbed her clothes and got out the stains. For now this was alright, but what would she do when the weather got worse?

She couldn't spend the whole winter in these clothes or without a bath. She saw that basin in front of the fire then, thinking of the warm water she helped the others wash in and knowing there was still a way for her to be clean, but she couldn't do it. She would have to sit there in that tub, staring out at the others like they did, like Freya did, not even blushing when her father or brother came in and saw her washing in front of the fire.

Enid felt the heat rising to her cheeks then and that cold chill sink into her stomach and she shook her head, running to the bank to wrap herself in her cloak as her teeth banged together. No, she would have to find another way.

She slipped into her boots, bundling her clothes into her basket and heading back to the farm, but that was when she heard it, the rumble of hooves on the path behind her, when she darted to the side and clutched her cloak closer. A man on a horse stopped beside her, one of those giants with long, flowing hair and strange marks drawn into his skin. He studied her for a moment, his head tilting to the side as he spat on the ground.

"You're Ivar's slave," he said.

"My name is Enid," she answered, and he went still, his eyes lingering on her face before he suddenly burst into laughter.

"Is your master home, slave?"

"Who wants to know?" she asked, and he laughed again, big, loud laughs that were like rumbles of thunder.

"I'm in no rush," he smiled. "But I am getting bored. Why don't you answer the question or put that basket down so we can have some fun?"

Enid clutched at her basket, her hands so stiff and tight her knuckles had gone white. So desperately she wanted to nod and send him on his way. So clearly she remembered him from the boat, how he had almost hit her, how the only thing stopping him had been Ivar's hand around his wrist, but what business did he have at the farm and what would he do to the children when he got there? Enid didn't know, so she swallowed, burying her fear and forcing her eyes up to glare at him.

"I don't know who you're talking about," she said. "And I have a lot of work to do so I'll be going."

She turned, keeping her eyes on the path in front of her, trying her best not to think about how dry her mouth had gone. She heard him sliding from his horse and heard his boots crunching in the fallen leaves behind her and soon his fingers were in her hair, twisting and pulling and dragging her close.

"You're not very smart, slave," he growled, and she dropped her basket, trying to pry his fingers from her and to keep those tears from spilling down her cheeks.

"Uncle!" said a voice, and she looked up, seeing Tyr walking down the path, his fishing spear resting across his shoulders, and she almost gasped with relief, she almost just sat down and cried louder and longer than she had ever cried before, but then that man let her go, walking over to Tyr and grasping him by the shoulders.

"Tyr," he said. "It's good to see you. Is your father home?"

"Yes," Tyr smiled.

"Good," he said, patting the boy again. "Go tell him I'll be staying the night. I'll be there soon, I just have some business to finish with this slave."

She felt it then, that relief that had been building inside her turn into something cold, turn to stone. She looked up, forcing that smile onto her lips so that Tyr wouldn't worry and not knowing how she would make it through this.

"Actually she's needed at the farm," Tyr smiled. "I was on my way to get her. Come on, Enid," he said, bending down to pick up her basket and hand it to her.

She reached for it, her pale arms shaking, her knees almost giving out from under her as she took a few steps to stand behind the boy, but she still felt those eyes on her, so heavy and cold and she couldn't turn to face them.

"Fine," the man sighed. "I'll see you back there."

Tyr smiled, gripping Enid by the elbow and pushing her to the side of the path so the man could ride by. Never once did that smile falter, never once did that warm light in his eyes give way to anything else, and when they were alone was when Enid finally felt it, how her fear hung from her shoulders and pinned down her chest. For a moment she couldn't move, she couldn't even breathe, but then Tyr turned to her, taking the basket from her hands and smiling.

"Come on," he said, and they walked a long way in silence, him swinging her basket in his hand and resting his fishing spear across his shoulders.

"Thank you, Tyr," she whispered.

"Oh?" he said, turning to her and then he smiled again. "Don't worry about my uncle. He won't hurt you," he said, and for a moment that smile stayed and she almost believed him. "But you and Frigga should stay with us up in the loft tonight," he nodded.

Those words were still ringing in her ears when they'd made it back to the farm and she found an old undershirt to slip into and wrapped her cloak back around her. He was sitting around the fire, talking and laughing with Ivar as they drank mead from their cups, but when she stepped into the room, she felt how all those eyes turned to stare at her, how suddenly the room was cold though the fire blew stronger than ever.

"Get dinner ready," was all Ivar said, and she heard that man tutting.

She felt the weight of his eyes on her back as she made her way over to the table to chop up vegetables and she knew then that Tyr had lied, that that soft and easy smile had only meant to make her feel better and she still had everything to fear from that man behind her.

"You taught her our language?" he asked.

"The children did," Ivar answered, and the man laughed, a laugh that was more like a grunt as he took another sip from his cup.

"Still, you treat her well, Ivar. She's fatter than she was back on the boat," he said, and Enid had to stifle that anger that brewed in her stomach, that urge to whip around and point her knife to his face.

"Is she?" was all Ivar said.

"Oh, yes," the man said. "I got a good look at her on my way here. It's no wonder you're in no hurry to find another wife," he laughed, but for a long while there was nothing but silence, her hands shaking as she clutched at the table in front of her.

"Shut up, Rolf," Ivar warned.

"Come on, Ivar. It's just some harmless fun," Rolf laughed. "But you know you could have your pick. Jarl Knut-,"

"I said, shut up, Rolf," Ivar snapped, and she felt that same chill, felt those eyes go dark and dangerous without even turning to look at them, and Rolf sighed, taking a moment to let the air soften and warm before he spoke again.

"I meant no harm by it," he said. "Everyone knows how much you loved Helga… but she would want you to be happy, you know that. And you know I only say the things that everyone else is too scared to say to you themselves. You'll see when you come to the wedding. There are plenty of women, good women, who would still marry you. No one is saying that they need to take Helga's place, but you need help around here and with the children."

"I have her."

"That's fine for a little while," Rolf sighed. "But soon you're going to need a woman to teach Freya the things you can't. You don't want to send her off to her own land and husband without knowing everything, right? And besides, this slave can't teach her our ways."

"Enough," Ivar snapped. "Or did you come all this way just to lecture me?"