Liv stepped away from her loom and rubbed at the back of her neck, trying to massage the tightness from her aching shoulders. The fire burned low and she scowled at the dwindling wood pile in the corner.
Life had been difficult since Rolf had died, but Liv took great pride in how she had managed to keep herself afloat by selling and trading her textiles in the fishing villages up and down the coast, but she had yet to figure out how to get more efficient at chopping firewood. Rolf had always been the brawn in their relationship.
Her hand dropped to rest on her swollen belly, her wool dress warm beneath her touch. The baby Rolf had planted there just before his death kicked in response. Having grown up surrounded by brothers and male cousins, Rolf longed for a little daughter. Liv had been happy to give him one, but since his death, she wanted a boy.
She stepped toward the wood pile, focusing on the rough bark against her hands instead of the sadness that threatened to swallow her up. When the fire flared to life, she hung the pot above the flames, wanting her fish stew to be warm, but not scalding hot when she came back inside. She pulled her boots and her heavy, fur-lined shawls and headed out into the cold.
Winter was just around the corner, the wind carrying along its frigid kisses. Liv shivered. The threat of snow swirled above as dark clouds rolled over her little hut from the west. With one hand on her belly and the other on the small of her back, Liv hurried to the chopping block and picked up a log, cursing herself for being too cheap to pay the woodcutter to split them for her.
Her body warmed as she struggled with the ax, her baby awake and kicking at the new activity. She wrenched the axehead from the fat log she had failed to split and leaned against the handle with a sigh as the burnt edge of the sun brushed the horizon.
The frozen landscape stretched out all around her, its bleakness bringing her solitude to the forefront of her mind. Even at the top of her hill, the roar of the sea and the taste of the salt in the air dominated her senses. Ran's hallowed halls concealed by choppy, gray water.
She poked at her bulging abdomen. "Alright, you. Settle down. It's going to be dark soon and I can't concentrate with you stomping on my bladder."
At the sound of her voice, the child stilled, safe and warm tucked away in her womb, before unleashing a torrent of kicks against her side.
Liv laughed. "That was kind of you. Thank you for moving."
Boy or girl, Liv prayed to Freya that her child would be as smart as she suspected. And healthy. Both she and Rolf had been hearty people, so she wasn't terribly worried in that regard. But it couldn't hurt to be sure.
She lifted the ax and resumed her futile attempts at splitting logs, abandoning the fat one for smaller, easier-to-manage branches. It only took a few moments before she had to stop and catch her breath.
"Can I help you, miss?"
Liv gasped and spun around, ax held out in front of her as the hair stood on the back of her neck.
A big blonde Viking, complete with a longsword on his hip and a shield on his back, smiled down from atop his short, stocky, pale-brown fjord horse. Even without the horse, his wealth was apparent in the bright blue of his tunic, the thick, fur mantle on his shoulders, and fine leather boots.
She shook her head. "I couldn't trouble you, Sir."
It was foolish to refuse help, especially from one as big and strong-looking as he, but the kohl around his intense gray eyes gave him a sinister aura, like a wolf who just cornered an unsuspecting rabbit.
His long braids swayed as he climbed down from his horse. "It's no trouble. In fact, I'll chop wood until the sun goes down in exchange for something to eat."
Liv lowered her ax, snow flurries melting on her cheeks. "That's more than fair. Although I will warn you that all I have to offer is fish stew and water."
He removed his sword belt and shield, hanging them on his saddle. "I've lived on cold, salted fish for weeks. Anything hot is a welcome respite." His eyes never left hers as he approached.
He was much older than she initially thought, the lines around his eyes visible despite the kohl, and silver mixed into his blonde hair and beard.
"I am called Torvald." He reached for the ax with a small smile.
"Oh." She held out the ax, iron head dropping toward the cold ground. "Liv."
His finger's brushed hers when he took it. "Pretty."
Her skin flushed hot and, despite her mistrust, she returned his smile, her body's immediate reaction to a handsome man's touch after so long not surprising. "Have you been away from home for long?"
He put the fat log on the block, raising the ax high overhead as she stood. "Since summer. My home is a day or two east of here and I will be happy to see it." Torvald brought the ax down with a grunt, the throaty sound awakening something within her loins. He split the log as if it were a twig.
She hurried to put another on the block before picking up the freshly cut firewood. They fell into a steady rhythm, him chopping and her placing another log on the block before collecting the pieces, the snowfall picking up enough to dust their shoulders and heads.
Liv caught him sneaking looks at her chest, which was concealed, along with her pregnant belly, by a long shawl.
"Do you live alone?" He split a log with a sharp crack, his weight the driving force behind the sharp ax head.
She studied him, deciding she liked his high cheekbones and the way his lips pressed together when he brought the ax down; the intensity in his gaze out of desire for her. "Since my husband passed away last spring."
Her eyes flickered up from his chest to meet hers, expression softening. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I'm assuming he was a young man?"
She swallowed, the words spilling from her. "He drowned in a fishing accident. I didn't believe them when they told me. My Rolf was a strong swimmer, but he got all tangled up in his fishing nets when he fell over the side."
Torvald tapped the butte of the axehead against the block, staring off into the cold, gray distance before turning toward her, face tight with emotion. He opened his mouth, but then closed it with a shake of his head, lifting the ax high.
Liv put a log on the block, stepping away as he brought the head down. The snow continued to fall and so did the darkness. She carried firewood inside and set it next to the hearth, resting her hand on her belly while she stirred the stew. Even if Torvald didn't want her after he saw her swollen, heavy belly, his company would be very much appreciated.
She went back out, Torvald's loyal mount standing in the same place his master had left him, the last rays of sunlight shining weakly through the dark cloud cover. She took a deep breath, nervousness flickering through her as she approached the powerful warrior. "I have a small barn around the other side of my home. I butchered the old goat, so I have no hay, but with the snow coming down and the darkness settling in, you and your horse are welcome to stay the night if you wish."
He rested the ax on his shoulder, the hungry intensity returning to his gaze as it traveled down her shrouded body. "You are very kind." He followed her around the back of her home to the barn, leading his horse along by the reins.
She opened the gate to the small paddock and smiled shyly over her shoulder. "I'll draw some water."
There was a well a few feet away from the gate. By the time Liv came back, taking care not to spill ice-cold water down her front, Torvald already had the horse's saddle off and a patchy blanket spread over its back.
"I'm sorry I don't have anything for him to eat," she called.
He looked up from a saddle bag, drawing out a small sack. "He won't starve. I've got enough to get him home."
She poured the water into a trough and he fed the horse, putting away the sack and slinging the saddlebags over his shoulders, metal clinking around inside. "This is a fine barn. Solid structure."
Her gaze fell to his flexing leg muscles beneath his tight breeches as he knelt to pick up his sword and shield. "My husband built it. Come spring, I hope to buy you another goat."
His face fell. "Ran is a cruel goddess to take the lives of the young and leave the old."
She reached for his shoulder, touching him softly before pulling away. "Who did she take from you?"
He sighed. "My oldest sons, Erik and Oleg, came to raid with me. Erik feasts with Odin after taking a spear to the throat, but Oleg dines with Ran in her watery halls after falling overboard in a terrible storm off the Orkneys. They were never apart when they were alive, but now they must spend the afterlife without each other."
Her heart grieved for the man. Such events would have broken her completely. No words could give him any kind of comfort, so she gripped his forearm, leading him away from his horse as it drank deeply from the trough. "Come rest by my fire, Torvald. I'll get you something to eat."
They walked back around to the front of the house, Torvald laughing when Liv brushed snow from his shoulders and head. Her baby kicked lazily at the top of her stomach as she led him inside.
May I take a few of your things?" She reached toward him.
"How about a bowl of that fine smelling stew instead?" He glanced around her tiny, one-room hut, smiling at her loom and pile of blankets and furs on the floor. "You have been busy with your weaving I see." He knelt to lean his sword and shield against the wall, the saddlebags slipping from his shoulders.
"It's how I support myself." She locked eyes with him as she removed her shawl, the tight swell of her stomach protruding from her abdomen.
He froze, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
She turned away, suddenly ashamed, busying herself with bowls. He stood and removed his mantle, hanging it on a hook Rolf had nailed in the wall near the door. She marveled at the broad, sweeping planes of his back as she ladled stew into two wooden bowls.
"Here you go. There's more if you would like it." She kept her gaze averted when she handed him the bowl.
