Chapter Twenty-five

"You're not very good," he said, as they sat in the yard. "And you're not much stronger than Freya so don't take any risks."

Her chest was heaving, her face glistening with sweat as she brushed the sand from her skirts, but she didn't care. Her muscles already ached, the insides of her hands were scratched and bleeding, but still she didn't care. She smiled, sighing and laying on her back to stare up at the sky, feeling so much better than she had in a long time.

"And get Freya to tie up your hair while I'm away," he said. "Someone could use it to catch you."

"Shouldn't I just cut it off then?" she asked, and he turned then, staring at her with eyes that didn't blink before he looked away and wiped the handle of his axe against his trousers.

"No," he said. "The children like it."

For a long while neither of them spoke, for a long while she only laid there, smiling to herself and watching the clouds, and then she nodded.

"Thank you, Ivar," she whispered.

"The men will arrive in a few days," he said. "Don't tell any of them about this, they won't like it… And make sure you always have one of the children with you."

"Or the same thing will happen again?" she asked, and he looked at her again, this time from the corner of his eye, the look on his face cold and harsh.

"Probably," was all he said.

"What's the difference?" she asked, sitting up. "They'll do it to a slave but not to a free woman? Why?"

He shrugged, twisting the axe between his fingers before resting it down beside him. "It's just how it is. And don't call me Ivar in front of them either."

"What do I call you then?"

"Master."

"Master?" she gasped. "I can't do that, Ivar. I-!"

"You'll do it, Enid," he said, his forehead furrowing in a slight crease. "They'll think I'm weak if my slave disrespects me."

She stared at him and for a moment that darkness in his eyes frightened her and she almost nodded and bowed her head, but then she couldn't.

"I don't mean it as disrespect," she said, and he nodded, getting to his feet and holding a hand out to her.

"Good," he said, but his words were still ringing in her ears when she saw a line of men approaching the farm a few days later, tightly holding Frigga to her chest as she stood beside the others in the yard, her heart racing.

Any one of them could get the same idea as Rolf. Any one of them could pin her against the wall and finish what he'd started that horrible night.

Ivar greeted a few of them and pointed along the path to where they could make camp for the night. It had been so long since she'd seen so many of them in one place. She could feel that same fear she had back on the boat. She could almost smell the sack every time she closed her eyes, but then she felt Tyr pulling on her sleeve and bringing her inside. A few moments later and the house was filled with men, piling onto stools and around the table, filling up the room with the sound of laughter and heat.

"Bring the food, Enid," Ivar said, and Enid nodded, not trusting her voice not to give out on her and handing Frigga to Tyr.

"I'll help," Freya said, and Enid stared at her, smiling and nodding as they went round to the backroom where they had stored big pots of steaming stew.

Before she knew it, she was back on the cot, cradling Frigga to her chest while Tyr sat on the edge and watched all of them closely. She'd never seen that light in Tyr's eyes before, a strange mixture of bright excitement, of something young and eager but also of something calm, like there was a sudden steel that had strengthened his spine and he wasn't afraid to test it.

Freya had it too. Enid saw it, as the girl leaned against the wall by the ladder, her arms folded across her chest as she studied the men in front of them, and Enid realised it then, what Ivar had been telling her that morning he'd broken her heart. They were in the in-between, no longer children but not quite old enough to be grown. One more year or two and there would be no child left in them. A few more years after that and they wouldn't need this place anymore. Somehow that made Enid's heart warm and proud. Somehow that carved a big hole in her chest that she was not sure would ever be filled again.

"We'll leave in the morning," she heard Ivar say. "Make sure the others are ready. I don't want to waste any time."

"They'll be ready," another man answered. "They won't miss their chance tomorrow. Not with what Jarl Knut's offering as a reward. The raids must have been good this summer or has he dipped into one of his hoards?"

"The raids were good," Ivar nodded. "We found a lot of new places."

"You mean you did, Ivar," that man laughed, gripping Ivar by the shoulder and shaking him, but Ivar shrugged, taking another sip from his cup and staring into the flames in front of him.

"We only followed the river in land," he said. "It's not like I found England."

That man laughed, leaning back on his stool, one of his heels lifting off the ground as he did. All night that man kept at Ivar, hounding him with a mixture of prods and praises almost like he enjoyed it, almost like he was looking for something, but no man questioned Ivar when he stood, when he sent them back to the others out in the camps and closed the door behind them.

Enid's ears were ringing as she clutched Frigga close, her heart racing in her chest as she heard them cheering and laughing outside. She didn't think that she would sleep that night, not when they could kick in that door at any moment and there would be nothing to stop them from coming for her. She stood, stretching her legs and pulling the furs back on the cot to lay Frigga down.

"No," she heard and she felt a hand clamp around her elbow. "Take Frigga to my room."

She stared at Ivar, but he wasn't looking at her, his eyes still peeled to the door almost like he could see through it, and some part of her wanted to argue, but that part of her was so small and so weak.

It'd been a long time since she'd step foot into his room under the loft. She'd only ever been there to clean and to drop off his clothes and each of those times that room had been heavy, like the air in there was somehow different, like it weighed so much more than anywhere else, but that night she breathed a little easier as soon as she rounded the corner. That night so much more than just a weight lifted from her chest as she pulled back the furs and tucked Frigga in. She was smoothing the hair back from Frigga's face when he came in, when he pulled off his shirt and sighed as he slid under the furs.

"You can stay here if you want," he said.

"Will they come back in?" she asked, and he shrugged, turning on his side and smoothing Frigga's cheek.

"I don't know," he answered, and she looked back to the doorway, seeing the flickering shadows from the firepit dancing against the wall on the other side.

She should go, that much she knew, that much she felt deep down in her stomach, but then she stood, blowing out the candles and slipping under the furs the other side of Frigga. How much time had passed since she'd slept against his back on the boat? Somehow it felt like a lifetime, somehow it felt like no time at all. Now, just like then, he was keeping the others from her, keeping her safe and warm when others would not have.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked.

"A few days, at least," he said, and she reached out, grabbing Frigga's hand under the furs and holding it.

"Bring him back, Ivar," she whispered, and Ivar sighed, rubbing his forehead with his fingers before he spoke.

"If the gods-,"

"No," she cut in. "You bring him back. Just like you brought me here."

She saw him turning in the darkness, felt those eyes rest on her though she couldn't see them, and for a moment she thought he was angry and she readied herself to fight and scream; but then he slid a little lower in the bed and nodded.