Epilogue Freya
A drop of water struck my forehead, and I frowned up at the ceiling of the home Bjorn and I had built together. “The roof is leaking again.”
Bjorn muttered something that sounded distinctly like we should burn it down and try again, and I elbowed him in the ribs. “We will do no such thing.”
“It would be easier than fixing that leak.” He rolled on top of me, his loose hair falling down to brush my cheeks as he kissed me. “We could go back to living in a tent.”
“The tent was cold,” I reminded him.
“I don’t recall hearing you complain.”
His lips moved to my jaw, then my throat, and heat kindled between my thighs though the gods knew that the reason we’d slept so late was that we’d been up past the midnight hour doing just this. I traced my fingers down the muscles of his back, as hard as they’d been a year ago despite neither of us having wielded a weapon since swearing loyalty to Leif as our jarl.
This life was harder, in its own way, laboring to survive rather than fighting, but I’d relished every moment of it. Falling asleep in my husband’s arms, his breath warm against my cheek in the winter night, only to wake to the feel of his touch. A touch that made me burn as much now as it ever had, the love I felt for him giving life to me more thoroughly than the air in my lungs.
A droplet of water splattered against Bjorn’s bare back, but he ignored it, moving his way down my body to my breasts. Outside, the goats were raising a racket in their desire to be milked, the rooster reminding us that it was past dawn and he wished to be fed, the horses adding to the cacophony of noise.
“There is work to be done,” I murmured, my smile growing as he growled, “It can wait.”
“You’re a terrible farmer.”
“I only pretend to be a terrible farmer so as not to provoke the jealousy of our neighbors.” His cock pressed into me, a soft sigh escaping my lips as my body stretched around his girth. “Keeps the peace, else they might seek vengeance against me for having nothing to… hang their shovels upon when their wives make comparisons. It is a kindness.”
“Gods know, I wed you for your altruism.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, every part of me wanting more.
“Liar. You married me for my good looks.”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t your modesty.”
Bjorn gave a low laugh, then shifted his weight, the angle of his thrusts making me gasp, my climax already rising, the ache of standing on the brink of pleasure stealing wit and words from my tongue as my husband, my love, my life, claimed me. I fell over the edge, taking him with me, my heart aching with as much pleasure as my body when he murmured, “I want for nothing in life because I have you.”
Wrapped in furs and in his arms, I closed my eyes, no part of me wanting to move. But then I heard a faint snap of shifting rushes, and Bjorn yelped as a melting crush of snow broke through the roof, landing square on his head.
Covering my mouth to keep from laughing, I watched him brush snow from his hair, glaring at the beam of sunlight streaming through the roof.
“I really ought to burn the whole thing down,” he growled, then his green eyes flicked to mine. “Enough laughter, Born-in-Fire. I’ll fix it today.”
“Animals first.” I reached for my dress, no longer trying to curb my laughter. “Else they’ll burst in the door looking for you.”
Bjorn sighed, then availed himself of the water in the wash basin before pushing aside the curtain that hid our bed from the main room. I watched him as I washed, noting how he avoided looking at the weapons chest that sat against one wall, my shield, wrapped in cloth, hanging on the wall aboveit.
Both the weapons chest and shield served as ever-present reminders of our life before. The terror, pain, and suffering that came with them. Danced around but never acknowledged. The life we had given up because it had cost us both too much and we’d feared it would eventually cost us each other.
Outside, I heard the squeal of a child and the admonishments of a woman, and Bjorn said, “Ingrid is here. I must escape before she sees me.”
Taking up the heel of the bread I’d made yesterday, he bent down to kiss me, but before he could escape out the front, the door opened. Ingrid looked him up and down. “Your goats are much abused, Bjorn.”
“The goats understand it is for the greater good of keeping my wife well serviced.”
Ingrid snorted, but Bjorn only ruffled my nephew’s hair as the baby crawled past, then escaped before Ingrid could respond with more words.
My friend rolled her eyes. “It is amazing you two don’t starve to death, for you spend more time abed than any two people I’ve ever met.”
“It is not always the bed.” I picked up my nephew and kissed his blond hair, my brother’s sweet boy wrapping his arms around my neck as I walked to the window to watch Bjorn.
Ingrid held up her hands. “I do not need the details.” Her eyes flicked to the roof. “You need to fix that.”
I made a soft humming sound of agreement, hugging the baby and watching Bjorn feed the horses. There was a restless energy about him that I could sense from here. Because I felt it, too, even as I absently listened to Ingrid’s chatter about gossip in Selvegr.
“Freya?”
I turned to find Ingrid watching me. “Hmm?”
“Are you well?”
Making a face, I set Erik on the ground, the boy crawling immediately to the weapons chest, which he tried and failed to open. “Of course I’m well.”
“I mean, are you content?”
“Yes.” The word was oddly difficult to say, and I turned away from her scrutiny because I did not care to consider why that was.
Ingrid did not speak, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her take my shield down from the hook on the wall, then remove its covering. The silver metal was bright as ever, gleaming in the early light. “It is a quiet life you live now,” she remarked. “You are not meant for a quiet life, Freya. Neither is Bjorn.”
“We fought for this life.” My hands fisted. “Fought to live in peace. Of course we are content.”
Ingrid traced a finger around the edge of my shield, watching her son trying to open the chest full of weapons and chain mail and fighting leathers, all carefully packed. “Then why don’t you rid yourself of these things? Sell them for items your home needs.”
“We might have need of them. Violence comes looking for even those who hide from it.” Not wanting to discuss the subject anymore, I asked, “How is Taric?”
The answer was always the same, because Taric was as constant as the sun rising in the east. Born from one of the southern nations, he’d fallen in love with the mountains and fjords of Skaland. A farmer by trade, he had not a violent bone in his body and he’d stepped into the void left by my brother’s death, giving Ingrid and my nephew the certainty they needed. A better man I could not have chosen for them. Geir would have approved.
“He’s well. When I tell him of your roof, he is sure to come and aid Bjorn in the repair.”
My eyes were on my husband, who stood in the yard staring into the distance while the chickens pecked around him.
Are you content? I silently asked him.
AmI?
Bjorn lifted his head, and a heartbeat later, I heard the pounding of galloping hooves. A rider galloped into the yard, skidding to a stop before Bjorn. Curious, I left the house. Ingrid followed after me with Erik in her arms. As I approached, I heard the rider, who was just a boy, call out, “The jarl has called all warriors to arms!”
“What has happened?” I asked.
“Raiders from the south. They’re attacking villages along the coast.”
My heart skipped, then raced. “Leif aims to fight them, then?”
Though I knew the blood oath that had bound me was broken, I still felt the sudden urge to reach for a weapon.
“Yes.” The boy took hold of the seax belted at his waist. “He calls to arms anyone who can fight.”
Bjorn’s gaze flicked to me, then he shrugged. “My brother knows my answer. Unless conflict arrives on my land, I am through with fighting.”
Even as he said the words, I saw fire flicker in his hand, then disappear. My breath came faster as I asked, “Is it dire?”
“Many dead. The jarl begs that you come.”
“No,” Bjorn muttered, even as I said, “We could at least go to Grindill and discover what has happened.”
Silence stretched, then Bjorn sighed. “Perhaps you are right. We should at least have a look at what they are up against.”
“And bring supplies,” I added. “Raiders burn what they don’t take.”
He nodded. “We’ll listen to what my brother has to say, then return home.”
“Not more than a day or two.” I turned to Ingrid. “Would you and Taric mind the animals?”
“Of course.” There was a faint smile on her lips. “And see to the roof for when you return.”
“It would not be more than a week,” I said, Bjorn adding, “A fortnight at most, if my brother needs someone to watch over Grindill while he puts a stop to the raiders.”
“It is no trouble.” Ingrid jerked her chin at the boy. “Tell the jarl they’ll be along, yes.”
He nodded and wheeled his horse, galloping back the way he had come.
“You two shouldn’t linger,” Ingrid said. “I’ll see to the animals.”
My eyes met Bjorn’s, a familiar thrill running through my veins as we started walking to our home. Inside we went to the chest, standing before it together.
“We should probably go prepared, just in case.” A smile rose to my lips because Bjorn was already opening the lid, the smell of leather and steel drifting out. I swiftly changed into fighting leathers, weaving my hair into a braid before donning my mail vest, remembering how I’d sworn I’d never wear it again. My father’s sword, retrieved from the river through Bjorn’s efforts, was a familiar weight as I added it to my belt next to Gyda’s seax, my shield still light as a feather slung over my shoulder. Like old friends from whom I’d been too long parted.
Neither of us said anything as we went back outside, though it was to find Ingrid holding the reins of both our horses, which she had saddled while my nephew terrorized the chickens. “You should hurry,” she said. “Much can happen in a short time.”
I gave her a wry look. “We are only going out of loyalty to Leif. We’ll be back.”
“The goats will be waiting with bated breath for Bjorn’s dedicated care, I’m sure.” She handed off the reins tous.
I mounted my mare. Walking her down the road, I settled into the familiar weight of attire I thought I’d never wear again. Bjorn rode alongside me, quiet at first, and then he said, “We didn’t bring extra supplies.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“We’re not going to guard Grindill in Leif’s absence, are we?”
“No.” I met his gaze. “It seems I don’t want a quiet life, Bjorn. I want more, even though I know that more comes with hardship.” It was hard to keep my voice steady, because I felt afraid to admit it. Afraid to ask for what was burning in my heart, because it had been I who had turned my back on fighting. “But if you don’t want this, we can turn around.”
A slow smirk rose on my husband’s face, and his axe materialized in his hand, heat wafting over me. “I go where you go, Born-in-Fire. Even if it’s to the gates of Valhalla.”
Blood surged in my veins, anticipation hot in my heart. Because this was what we were born to do. To risk life and limb and love to defend Skaland. If there was a call to war, we would answerit.
It was the fate we wanted. The fate we would weave together.
Digging in my heels, I drove my horse to a gallop. “I’ll race you there!”