Page 120 of Shared By the Vikings

Epilogue

Three years later

The cold winter air strung with icy snowflakes flinted against Ingrid’s cheeks. She held Sigrid’s hand tighter as the northerly wind skittered over the fjord, whipping up the water so it danced and twirled.

“I will be glad when the season changes,” Helga, her handmaiden said.

“Me too.” Ingrid shivered. It was part the chill and part anticipation.

“Here, I’ll take Sigrid,” Helga said.

“Are you sure? You’re already carrying Tournn.”

“Of course, it’s not far now. I’ll keep them for the day so you can rest.”

Ingrid smiled. She certainly had plans to stay in bed, but not resting. Her husbands were out chasing a pack of boars that had been spotted in the area. Chances were they’d have a successful hunt, they usually did, and be back at the longhouse within hours.

She passed Sigrid’s hand to Helga, then stooped to his level. “Mamma will see you later, be a good boy.” She tightened his hood so his little ears were well covered. A mop of dark fringe hung to his eyes, the tip of each strand crystalized with ice.

His dark hair could be a gift from her soul, or maybe Erik or Gunnvar’s, she wasn’t sure.

“Will Floki be in the village?” Sigrid asked, the wind catching his words and trapping them in a puff of warm air that was quickly whisked away.

“Ja,you can play with him.”

Sigrid smiled.

She kissed his forehead then stood.

Wrapped up in a gray woolen blanket and held close to Helga’s chest was Tournn, Ingrid’s babe, and her newest son. His baby hair was fine and pale, as were his lashes, but even at nearly one circle of seasons there was a set to his jaw she recognized, as well as a crop of tiny new freckles on his shoulders.

“I will give him ice chips for that tooth breaking into his gum,” Helga said. “That will help his discomfort.”

“Thank you.” Ingrid kissed her own fingertips then transferred them to Tournn’s nose; that was all she could really see of him. Helga had him well protected from the harsh elements.

“I will go,” Helga said. “And return after nightfall.”

“Thank you.”

For a moment Ingrid watched them walk from the end of the spur and into the dark village dwellings. Each home had a snowdrift against it, and roofs were heavy with snow as deep as a child of four summers was tall. Smoke curled from every chimney, and all but the hardiest villagers were inside. This was a day for making the most of the stores, both food and logs, and staying in to tell stories.

She smiled and turned.

Her men weren’t concerned with a blizzard. Not when there were boar around.

The remembered taste of fresh boar filled her mouth. She’d eaten lots of it when she’d been heavy with her two sons. She wanted more sons, soon. Blond-haired, dark-haired, sons with hair that held a touch of wild strawberries. An army of sons all created with the seeds of her husbands.

Through the driving snow, home came into view. It, too, was stacked on the north and east side with drifts. Icicles hung from the roof, and to the right of it, the goats and chickens had taken to their shelters, preferring to hide away from the day.

Retracing her deep tracks, she let herself in.

The single big room was warm and cozy. Two fires had been lit, one in a long, low trough by the bed, to keep that area warm, and another in the center that she and her handmaiden used for cooking.

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