Chapter Forty-one

"Gates!" she heard, and Enid gasped, lifting her head and staring at the barn door, and then she heard Ivar grunt behind her, felt him slide that arm out from under her neck as he sighed.

He sat up, rubbing his face in the palms of his hands, and then he sighed again, groaning when he stood, brushing her arms away as she went to help him and soon she found herself pulling away anyway, seeing that darkness in his eyes again and that ice that had been missing for a long time.

He slid the door open, his hand clutched to his side, a wince on his face as he sat on his seat against the wall and Enid wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, her breath coming out in big puffs of billowing mist as she came to stand by the door. She saw him riding into Hilda's yard, that man wrapped in big, thick furs, large, brass shields clasping his cloak together and many rings on his fingers. He nodded, sliding from his horse and handing the reins to one of the children, and then Hilda joined him, her eyes flicking between Ivar and her face before they landed on Enid's dress. Hilda tilted her head to the side then, staring at that dress with her eyes cold and harsh, her forehead lining in a slight crease, but then she laughed, quietly and softly, and shook her head, but Enid didn't have time to ask her what was so funny. That man knelt down in front of Ivar, twirling the rings on his fingers and staring at him.

"Deathless," he said.

"Jarl."

"Looks like you ran into some trouble."

"I must have, if you've come all this way to see me."

The Jarl laughed, a quick, curt laugh as he watched Ivar, but Enid didn't like it, not the way he kept Ivar pinned there or the way Ivar glared back at him. Somehow she felt it, that so much was being said between them, that somehow fates were being decided and she didn't know which way they were falling.

"It's not that long of a trip," the Jarl said, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lip.

"But you made it anyway."

"Yes," the Jarl nodded, leaning to pour himself a cup of mead from the pitcher beside them, and then he held it out, offering it to Ivar before jerking it away when Ivar went to take it and laughing softly. "I need you in town, Ivar," he said.

"I-," Ivar started, but that was all he could get out before the Jarl spoke again.

"I've sent some of my tenants to clean up your farm and they'll stay there to keep it running through the winter, but… Jarl Sigurd must have found out about Rolf's raid. There were too many men waiting for them when they got there. We lost a lot of warriors," he snorted. "I suppose you took care of some of Sigurd's men for me already, but... I need men to protect my land now. Not many from Rolf's raid made it back. Rolf is alive but wounded… and either way he's not you, Deathless," he said, standing and taking a big gulp of mead, and then he held the cup back out to Ivar. "You can't stay here, you know that. Hilda has too many mouths to feed as it is. Come to town, I'll provide for your family through the winter and then you can go back to your farm in the spring."

Ivar took the cup, swirling it in front of his lips for a long moment as he watched the Jarl. "In the spring," he said.

"In the spring," the Jarl nodded, and Ivar grunted, taking a swig of mead and his eyes flicking to the horses.

"Where's my son?"

"With mine," the Jarl laughed then. "The young ones are scared of him already, Ivar, you'll have to watch him. One day he'll be greater than you."

Ivar laughed then, a short, quick laugh as he leaned back against the barn. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

The Jarl laughed again, taking a seat on the floor beside Ivar and leaning against the barn, and then he held his hand out, taking the cup from Ivar as he watched the children in the field.

"One day, they'll all be greater than us," he said.