Chapter Forty-two

He was so loud, so loud and happy as he sat there, drinking and feasting with some of his men and Hilda's children. Enid sighed, flicking her eyes from his face to Ivar's again and feeling no better. Ivar sat there beside him, drinking quietly to himself and eating little and Enid knew he was unhappy, uneasy with all of this and that only made her feel worse.

What would happen to her in town? Would she be locked back up in that pen, would she have to watch every man with suspicion and only grit her teeth when the inevitable happened?

Enid closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself and sighing. She should ask Ivar to free her, then she would be safe, at least, and then she could ask to go home. She saw herself again, watching those children disappear on the dock and feeling something sharp and pointed slice through her throat.

"Enid," she heard and she opened her eyes, seeing Hilda standing there by the fire, holding a bowl out to her with her hand.

"Thank you," Enid said, her voice hoarse and cracking as she took it from her, and then she she slowly took a sip, not knowing if she would be able to swallow, not tasting anything as it lingered on her tongue.

"Ivar gave me that dress," Hilda said, still standing and watching the others at the table, holding her hands out to the flames and wriggling her fingers as she warmed them, and then she said, "It feels like a long time ago now… I guess it was," she laughed. "Rolf was to marry Helga and Ivar was to marry me. That was the deal his uncle and my parents made, but you know that didn't happen…

"He gave me that dress as a promise to keep his word," she shook her head. "I don't even remember what I gave him, but… Helga wouldn't let me get rid of it after. I wasn't upset, don't get me wrong. We would have been terrible together, but I didn't see much point in keeping it."

It was a long while before she spoke again, her eyes staring out into the flames without seeing before they flicked to her, and Enid couldn't have spoken then, even if she'd wanted to. Those eyes were so fierce, so bright and somehow burning as Hilda stared at Enid.

"My sister had the sight, you know? Not like The Seer, but sometimes the gods would show her things. They always liked her better…" she laughed, a short, curt laugh that was cold. "I think that's why they took her first… You look after those children, Enid, you hear me? Not even my sister could protect you if you don't."

Enid swallowed, nodding as she stared up at the woman and not knowing what to say. It was Helga's face staring at her then, reaching from beyond the grave and warning her with so much more than just her words. Suddenly Enid wanted to tell her everything, everything she had thought, about every pain she had felt since she had met Helga's family. Suddenly she had nothing to say at all.

"I'd die for them," she whispered, and Hilda turned away, staring back into the flames and nodding.

"I see that now," she said. "Everyone always thought Helga was weak, even Ivar. Everyone always wanted to protect her and love her… but the truth is she was closer to the gods than to us. I feel her whenever they're near and I feel her in battle… When I go to Valhalla, she'll be the one to take me, I know that here," she tapped at her chest. "She was stronger than all of us. She knew so many things and she carried it all by herself because that was the fate the gods gave her," she turned, looking at Enid, her eyes soft and hazy. "She loved us, in her own way… I understood that the day she died. She'd always known that she would go first, so she loved us like we didn't belong to her… or like she didn't belong here," she sighed, and then she cleared her throat. "Don't let anyone hurt you, Enid. Helga wouldn't like it."

Later that night, Enid was standing at the door to the barn, unable to open it, unable to move. She could hear them inside, coughing, snoring, laughing, talking. How many of the Jarl's men were in there? How many would she have to pass before she reached Ivar in the corner?

She closed her eyes then, breathing deeply and trying to gather her strength, but then she felt that hand on her waist, that thumb that trailed a line across her back and she turned. Jarl Knut was smiling at her, those eyes pinning her in place as he pushed her against the door, and Enid stared at him, her eyes big and wide for only a moment before they narrowed and she shook her head.

"Get off me," she warned, and Jarl Knut tilted his head to the side, that smile on his face growing bigger.

"You've learned our language, slave?"

"I have," Enid said, pushing on his chest and shoving his hands from her. "And many other things too."

Jarl Knut laughed, leaning forward until Enid felt her head bang against the barn door. "Like what?" he whispered, but suddenly he stood straight, his eyes still fixed on her face despite the knife to his throat, and then he laughed again, raising his hands in the air as he took a step back and said, "I was looking for you, Hilda."

"Were you?" Hilda asked, her mouth inches from his ear. "You can't have looked very hard, Knut."

That knife left his throat, trailing down his side until Enid saw it poking at his crotch and that smile on his face turned into a grin.

"You know that's not true," he said.

"You want to ask her to join us, is that it?"

"Why?" he asked. "Do you?"

Hilda stepped around him, coming to stand between them, her head tilting to the side, and then she turned, cupping Enid's face in the palms of her hands and trailing her thumb across her cheeks, and Enid felt that relief she had been feeling turn to something cold, something hard that stole the air from her lungs.

"You don't have to ask a slave for anything," Hilda said, and Enid wanted to shake her head, she wanted to do anything but stand there trembling.

The Jarl laughed, brushing Hilda's hair to the side and kissing her neck. So quickly Enid saw those eyes flick, resting for only a second on the barn door behind her as Hilda let Enid's cheeks go. Without a word Enid turned, sliding the door open only enough to slip in and closing it behind her just as quickly. She heard the thump of something banging against it, heard Hilda laughing and speaking, her voice so soft and deep, and Enid shook her head, her cheeks on fire, her heart hammering in her throat, and then she saw them, those men staring at her as she stood there panting.

For a moment she wanted to step back, for a moment she almost thought of opening the door and running for it, but then she gritted her teeth, clenching her hands into fists at her sides and started walking. Somehow it seemed like a lifetime until she reached him. Somehow each step was heavier, was slower than the one before. Somehow each one seemed to strengthen her spine and each one she took seemed to make the next one easier.

Ivar sat there, leaning against the wall of the barn and twirling a piece of hay between his fingers, his face a tight, deep scowl, those eyes so dark as he watched that hay spinning and spinning in his hands. When she reached him she felt it, that air bursting through the slits in the wall and biting like ice-cold spears.

She almost asked him if he was cold, but she couldn't. These men would judge him just like the ones back on the farm, they would think less of him for being kind to her, and that was twice now, twice he had sat there while someone had tried to hurt her and done nothing. She felt something in her snap then, something sharp and cruel, something dangerous.

She lifted the fur, turning to lie on her side and gritting her teeth. She shouldn't care. It shouldn't hurt, she knew that. Nothing had changed, not for her and not between them. She knew he didn't see her as anything other than his slave, but then she felt them, those fingers that curled around her wrist, that pulled her back up until she was sitting and leaning against his chest. That arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her there and lifting the fur up around her, as he leaned in, his mouth inches from her ear, his breath tickling her neck as he whispered, "Wake me if you hear anything."