Epilogue
“Thank you. These are amazing.”
With a smile Eahlswith took the four clay pots Eirik had brought as a moving in gift for her and Sven. All day well wishers had dropped by the new hut to deposit presents. The delicate pots were her favorite yet.
“Thank you, Eirik,” she heard Sven say from behind her. “These will be put to good use when we tap open the cask of ale your uncle brought us earlier.”
Eahlswith’s heart almost stopped when she turned to face him. She was still not used to the fact that her husband liked to wander about bare-chested during the warmer months but she was certainly enjoying it.
Just as the two men started to talk about the foal Wolf had gifted little Emma, a woman with flaming red hair appeared at the corner of the forge.
As soon as she spotted him, she walked over to Sven.
She was accompanied by a girl of about ten summers and appeared unsure of where she was going—or rather, not certain where to find who she wanted to see.
Eahlswith’s stomach dropped. Not another woman trying to lure Sven back into her bed, like Freydis had, back in the winter…
Or perhaps it was even worse, perhaps the woman was here to introduce him to his daughter.
He was certainly old and experienced enough to have fathered a child that age.
Not now, not when their life was perfect and they were about to welcome their first child together!
As if sensing her agitation, he drew closer to her.
“Fret not, ást mín. It’s not what you think. I’ve never even met her,” he said quietly, placing a hand on her very swollen stomach. Cwenthryth had told her to expect the birth to happen within the month.
The woman stopped in front of their little group. She looked so nervous that Eahlswith’s heart instantly went out to her. This woman would be no threat to anyone, much less to her.
“Good afternoon. Is one of you Wolf the Icelander’s son?” Her accent was a lot stronger than that of the people of the village, as if she had lived abroad all her life.
“I am,” Sven answered, taking a step forward. “I’m Sven, the youngest.”
She relaxed, like someone finally reaching the end of a long journey. “I’m Freyja, Rune and Eowyn’s daughter. You might have heard of my parents?”
“Rune and Eowyn?” Eahlswith watched as both men’s eyes widened in surprise. Indeed the name seemed familiar to them.
Sven recovered first. “My father lives over there,” he told her, gesturing toward the hut nestled in the shade of a majestic oak. “I’m sure he will be delighted to see you.”
“I…” She seemed unsure of the welcome she would get.
Sensing her hesitation, Eirik nodded at her. “I’ll take you there. I’m Eirik. My mother Frigyth was your mother’s best friend when she lived here.”
“Eirik, yes, I’ve heard all about Frigyth and Sigurd’s family. I thank you.” Freyja seemed relieved to meet someone whose name was familiar. “Come, Asta,” she told the little girl, taking her by the hand. “We’re almost there.”
While the three of them made their way to Wolf’s hut, Eahlswith turned to Sven. “You might not know her but you clearly have heard of her.”
“Yes. Or at least, I’ve heard about Rune and Eowyn all my life. I wonder what she’s doing here. Her family lives in Denmark.” He shrugged. “Well. I’m sure we’ll soon find out. Come,” he said, taking her by the hand. “It’s time we put Magnus’ present to good use.”
Eahlswith followed him back into the hut, a frown on her face. She didn’t remember the blacksmith giving them anything today.
“Put these down, we won’t be needing them.”
More intrigued than ever, she placed the four pots on the table Sven had made earlier in the summer, while they waited for the hut to be ready and looked on, as he removed a piece of cloth hanging on the wall with a flourish.
At about waist level was a hook embedded in the wall, just above the pallet they had piled high with a multitude of furs and blankets.
“Here. Magnus asked me the other day what I needed for the house. As I saw no use for a sword or another axe, I asked him to make this.” His voice had gone impossibly husky.
“You didn’t tell him w-what you intended to use it for, I h-hope?” she stammered.
Eahlswith would die of mortification if he had told his father’s friend that he intended for his wife to tie him to the wall so she could have her way with him.
Because she knew instinctively this was what the hook was for.
Sven had alluded often enough to the fact that they needed to finish what they had started that day in the storeroom but she had imagined he would wait until after the baby was born for it.
Apparently, she’d been wrong and he had waited long enough.
“Of course, I didn’t tell him. And to be honest, he didn’t seem to find the request odd, as there are many ways a hook could be useful.” He tilted his head, eyes ablaze with mischief, and reached out to the laces at his braies. “Anyway, forget about Magnus.”
“I already have.” Her whole body had caught on fire at the idea of what was to happen.
“Come, then, Alva. Heimdallr is ready to be ridden all the way to Himinbj?rg.”