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Brynhild was not coming. She would be here by now if she meant Fiona no real harm.

As the reality of her situation dawned, Fiona sank into a despondent weeping.

Ulfric’s slender protection was gone, if only for one night, but that was enough.

Brynhild meant to kill her. She had planned for this, had waited for her opportunity, and when it came, she seized it.

The Viking woman might even pass Fiona’s death off as an accident, tell Ulfric that his slave had disobeyed his orders, that she had wandered off and became lost, died of the cold.

Only Harald knew any different, and he would hardly be likely to tell the truth.

Fiona did what she might to remain warm, clapping her numb hands together and shifting as much as she could.

It was hopeless. She called out, pleading for help, but the closest longhouse was at least thirty yards from where she sat on the frozen earth.

The forge and the tannery were both deserted at this hour, and by the time the smith emerged, yawning, into the dawn light she would be just a stiff corpse.

No one could survive a night outdoors, without shelter, without warm clothing.

Fiona closed her eyes and allowed her frantic mind to drift, seeking peace at last as she sank into unconsciousness.

Ulfric, why did you leave? I need you, please, please, I will never speak out of turn again. I shall obey, be the meek little bed-slave…

“What the fuck…?”

Fiona was dreaming, her imagination conjuring up that which she wanted most in the world. Ulfric, his strength, his warmth. There was a scrape of iron against wood, then a clatter as the stocks were thrown open. Gentle hands about her waist, under her stiff knees, lifting…

“Hilla! Harald! I want hot water, a bath. Now !” Ulfric’s angry bellow echoed about the settlement.

Footsteps, running. Voices, questions, the pounding of his feet as he sprinted across the settlement with her in his arms. Fiona tried to lift her hand, to reach for his chin to check he was real, not another illusion.

She cracked her eyelids apart and inhaled deeply.

The warm, familiar tang of his leather tunic, the soft rub of his fleece cloak.

These were so achingly real, so familiar. Perhaps…

“Ulfric, you are here…”

Fiona flinched at the hated tone of her adversary. She turned her head to see Brynhild emerging from the longhouse, her cloak gathered about her as though thrown on in a hurry. The woman seemed rooted to the spot now, her expression stunned as she took in the enraged Viking before her.

“Brother, I can explain. She was?—”

“Not a word, Brynhild. Not a fucking word. I have heard enough from you.” Ulfric never so much as broke stride as he brushed past as though his sister did not stand in his doorway seeking to bar his way.

Fiona clutched at his cloak whilst Brynhild followed.

The woman reached for his elbow, but Ulfric shook her off.

“Leave us. I shall hear an account of this in the morning, and believe me, Brynhild, there will be a reckoning.”

Once inside, Fiona lay shivering on the bed as Ulfric himself made up the fire in their sleeping quarters.

Hilla rushed back and forth with buckets of water, but Harald was nowhere to be seen.

Fiona was glad of that, even though it meant more work fell on Hilla’s shoulders.

Not for long, though, Ulfric summoned more thralls and soon her bath was ready for her.

He helped her to undress, or rather he managed to remove her clothing despite her own inability to move her fingers or limbs to aid herself.

Then he lifted her into the bath and sat behind her to support her head.

“This seems to be all too familiar, little Celt,” he murmured. “But we shall not find ourselves here again, I swear it.”

“I… I thought you were gone, until tomorrow.”

“That was my intent, but as soon as I arrived at Bjarkesholm it was obvious that Olaf was beyond reason. I saw no point in remaining, he would not even listen to me let alone consider a truce. So I cut short the negotiations and decided to return early. And thank all the gods that I did.”

“I… I am pleased to see you. I longed for you to come home, and you did.”

“I should not have left you.”

“I was angry with you. You spanked me, just for my words. You said I could talk to you, but?—”

“I know. I was wrong and I apologise. Things will be different. I have been thinking…”

“Ah, I thought I could smell burning but I believed it to be merely a cinder which had strayed from the grate.”

Ulfric laughed out loud. “Little Celt, you are clearly in need of another spanking, but that will have to wait.”

“What have you been thinking, Viking?”

“A great deal, but that also will wait. My priority now is to see you safe and well, and to deal with those who would do you harm.”

“It was Brynhild…”

“I know.”

“Harald did as she commanded.”

“Harald? How does he come into this?”

“It was he who fastened me in the stocks, because Brynhild told him to. I told him that you would be displeased, that you would not permit it, but he would not listen.”

“He will listen well enough when he has to face me with his excuses.”

“What… what will happen to him?”

“He cannot remain here, not now. You must see that.”

“Yes, but…”

“He shall go to Bjarkesholm as part of the payment I intend to make. Let him see if he finds thralldom to a madman more to his liking.”

Fiona nodded. She did not bear the other servant any real ill will, she well knew how difficult it was to gainsay Brynhild, but Harald might have remained with her, ensured that she was well instead of leaving her to her fate. No, she would not miss him.

“Let me see your hands, and your feet. Those are always where the cold bites most keenly.”

She lay still as Ulfric examined her extremities, finally announcing her none the worse for her adventure. “It could have ended very differently though, had I not returned when I did.”

“I would have released her.” Brynhild interrupted them from her position just beyond the curtain. They both turned to glare at her. Fiona noted that she still wore her cloak.

“Not now, Brynhild. I will talk to you in the morning.”

“But, I was on my way. I would have brought the wench back indoors, but you arrived, and?—”

“Brynhild, fuck off.” Ulfric strode to the curtain and snapped it closed, blocking his sister from their view. Her retreating steps indicated that she had at last accepted her dismissal.

“You should sleep now. Let me help you into bed.”

“Only if you will remain there with me, Viking. You can tell me what you have been thinking.”

He aided her from the bath and wrapped her in a thick fleece, then he banked up the fire a little more. “Here, that should suffice until the morning.”

Fiona huddled among the bedding, her chin on her knees as she hugged her legs to her. Ulfric’s expression was one she could not quite read as he undressed and joined her on the mattress.

“I cannot wed you, you must know that.”

She turned to him, surprised. Whatever he had been thinking about, she had not expected this.

“I know that you will not, though I do not understand why it is impossible. Gunnar did not find it to be so.”

“Gunnar is a bastard.”

“Ulfric!”

“I mean that literally. We share a father, but his mother was a thrall, a woman who warmed my father’s bed from time to time.

She succumbed to a fever when Gunnar was six years old, so he was brought into our household and raised alongside Brynhild and me.

He is a Freysson, but as an illegitimate son he was never expected to lead the family after our father died.

He will not inherit, he does not bear the name of our kin.

He is not wholly of the jarl as his mother was a slave, and thus he enjoys a freedom of sorts.

He may do as he pleases, and usually does exactly that.

His marriage is no one’s business but his own, whereas I…

I have responsibilities. I am expected to protect my family, our honour… ”

“At the cost of my honour?”

“I know, it is neither fair nor just and I am not without regrets, but it is done now and we cannot undo the past. The future, however, is ours to shape.”

“What do you mean?”

“I cannot make you my wife, but I can grant you your freedom. For a price, a thrall may purchase his—or her—liberty. I will provide you with the wealth to do so, which would make you a karl. You would enjoy the same rights as most other women here. You could remain in Skarthveit?—”

“As your mistress?”

He nodded. “That would be my preferred solution, certainly. It is a reasonable enough prospect.”

“And Brynhild? Would she accept me as a member of this household, no longer a slave?”

“Brynhild will have no say in the matter. My mind is made up and I will deal with her.”

“And will you deal with Njal too? He will have questions.”

“I believe I can make him understand. He likes you well enough.”

“And I like him, he is a sweet child though Brynhild rarely allows me to be close to him. I fear he does not know me that well.”

“That will change. It must. Then you will accept this… this… compromise?”

“As a karl, would you still have the right to spank me?”

He grinned. “Would you have it otherwise, little Celt? Even a wife has to submit to her husband’s authority.”

“I do not like the switch. You may spank me with your hand, that is all.”

“Ah, sweetheart, you do not get to choose. But I will bear your preferences in mind.”

“I believe I would like it very much if you were to fuck me now, Viking.”

“And that is a preference I am happy to accommodate. Spread your legs, my once and erstwhile slave.”