Ah! Welcome Smár Einn!

There is an unbelievable amount to cover in this story, and we're going to do it in about 13 chapters, so some chapters are just going to be much much longer than the standard of this series. Right now, we're going back to the beginning of Edvard and Bella's second lives.

Thank you to Mel, Jill, and Paige!

.: Ein :.

The days are growing longer as spring melts away behind us. The sun, high and warm in the sky, reminds me that we have not much time left. Soon, my family will pack up our belongings and sail west, toward the setting sun, in search of new land.

It was a difficult decision to move to Ísland, one that has been in the works for many summers now. Though this farm on the mountain is the only home I've known, the king rising to power in the south means that soon, taxes will change. I will owe allegiance to a man I have never met, never fought beside. Ísland is not a free land, but there, my family will have a better chance of speaking up, of having a voice in the community. There, we will prosper.

Across the farm, my brother and cousin are working together to mend a fence. Arni and his family have lived with us since the winter when an errant ember caught his house on fire. No one was injured, but with nowhere else to go, they'd come here. Things have been busy with their presence, but undeniably things have also been more interesting. Arni has an easy way about him, a joy that is inherent. This joy is shared by his beautiful wife and their three children.

The evening chores are nearly finished as the sun starts to slowly sink back below the horizon. I am heading to tend to the animals who are out to pasture when a sound catches my ear. I look up, frowning against the setting sun glinting off the trees. The sound comes again, and though it is not familiar to me, it is like a call, beckoning me somewhere forgotten.

I abandon my work, heading into the woods up the mountain.

I am no stranger to these trees—they were my nursery, my training grounds, and one of my greatest teachers as I grew from a child into a man. They taught me as much as my own parents did, and I now know every step and stone within them. Even in the dimming daylight, I am confident moving through them.

I move, silent as a stag, through the foliage, following the song-like sound whispering to me.

I know better than to follow a sound into the forest—all manner of creatures employ such tactics to lure their prey—but I know this sound with a certainty I cannot name.

I am not being lured to be slaughtered; I am being led to my fate.

The sound dies down, and I pause in the trees, silent as I strain to listen to every movement and rustle around me. The forest is unnaturally quiet, and it puts me on alert enough that I think about reaching for my axe. I freeze, waiting for any movement, but there is nothing.

I am about to turn back to the farm when a flash of light sears through the trees.

It is brilliant, ground shaking, and nearly brings me to my knees.

The moment I am steady enough, I'm off like a shot, slipping through the forest and racing toward the light.

There is a small clearing that did not before exist, and in the center is a shimmer of gold. I race in, but the gold is fading, like sunlight slipping away, and in its place is a pale, frightened girl. It grows harder to see her as the light that surrounded her slips away, but my eyes are well equipped in the dark, and I keep my gaze fixed on her form.

She is beautiful, but uncertainty brings out a harshness in my voice that I almost immediately regret. "Who are you!"

She cowers from me, and as she scrapes herself together, I realize she is dressed in strange clothing. When she speaks, her words are utterly alien to me.

"Who are you!" I demand again, drawing out my axe. She may look innocent, but I know better than to openly trust a beautiful face in the woods.

She does not seem to understand my language, and I watch her go through a range of emotions and responses to my demands. At first, she is frightened, backing up into the trees behind her. I cannot understand her words, but I can hear a plea in her voice that makes me wonder what sort of woodland sprite she might be and what sort of game she is playing. It is the nature of the Hidden Folk to play with humans, and I do not yet trust that she is as she appears. I growl at her again, demanding answers from her. I see a thought flicker across her face, but it is gone before I can discern it. In the next moment, she stops shrinking in on herself. Her spine straightens, her head tilts up, and her jaw sets as a defiant glint comes into her eyes. She speaks again, and her voice is steadier, stronger.

She has fight in her.

It is enough for me. I stow my axe, reaching for the girl. In one movement, I throw her over my shoulder as she screams. Her small fists are hitting my back, but it doesn't hurt and I'm hoping it will wear her out.

She continues to scream, her fists and legs flailing and trying to connect with some part of me. I shift her on my shoulder so that she can't do much damage at all.

I feel the fight start to drain from her, and much too late, I remember how fragile some people are to being upside down.

I swear, pulling her off my shoulder. Her eyes are heavy as she blinks up at me, and I'm struck by the rich depth of brown that is her gaze. Before I can say anything more to her, her body collapses into sleep.

…

She is tiny in my arms. I would wonder if she was a child, were it not for the obvious signs of womanhood. Her face is still round with youth, but her strange, tight clothing tells me she is older than she appears.

Perhaps she is the daughter of a king, for who else could be so delicate?

I shift her in my arms, glancing down several times as I navigate us out of the forest. She's still asleep, her mouth gently parted as her head lolls about on her neck. I rearrange her to cradle her head as I keep walking.

I don't know who she is, but one thing is very clear: she is a long way from home.

I arrive at the farmstead, immediately taking her to my mother.

"Help," I shout, barging into her small workspace. She looks up at me in surprise, her knife clattering to the table.

"Gods, boy!" Mother hisses. I don't have time to be chastised by her.

"I need your help," I tell her, holding out the girl. My mother's brows furrow as she comes around the table, examining the girl in my arms.

"Who is she?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. There was a flash of light in the forest as if lightning had struck, and when I went to investigate, I found her."

Mother brings her hands to the girl's head, frowning. "Why does she sleep?"

I feel a blush steal up my neck and Mother looks up at me. "I carried her," I say quickly. "She was like a wild animal and I put her over my shoulder."

Mother scowls, slapping my arm. It doesn't hurt, but I duck my head anyway.

"Stupid boy." She grunts. "Put the poor girl down." She points to a pile of furs and I move across the room, gently setting the girl down.

Her hair is soft, like worn linen, and it tickles my arm as I place her, pulling my hands away from her.

"Where do you think she's come from?"

I look to my mother, who considers my question as she eyes the girl.

"Nowhere I know of," Mother says finally. "Look at her strange clothing."

I nod in agreement.

"I wonder if she is a thrall run away?" I suggest.

Mother looks up at me with a tight glare. "If that is the case, we must hold her here until someone comes to claim her. She cannot be damaged. We cannot afford it."

I nod in agreement. "If she is a thrall, she has been well taken care of."

Mother looks down at her, frowning. "She looks ill."

I smile a little. "I thought perhaps delicate."

Mother gives me a sharp look, jabbing a finger into my chest. "Do not do anything foolish." She hisses. "We know nothing of this girl. If she is someone else's, let them claim her. If she is not, we will find someone else to take her on."

I look at my mother in surprise. "Could you not use help?" I motion to her workspace and Mother grunts.

"I always need help," she complains. "How I had hoped any one of you would have the gifts of healing." She gives me a glare that I can't help but smile back at. "But we cannot afford to take on anyone else. Edvard, you know this."

I sigh but nod in agreement. "You are right."

"I must get the evening meal finished," Mother says, shooting a glare at the girl.

I look at her. "I'll stay with her."

Mother's eyes tighten.

"I will not touch her," I vow, holding my hands up. "I have even more to lose than you," I point out.

Mother nods. "Good." She glances at the bed of furs once more before shaking her head. "I'll send some food."

She leaves, and I let out a long breath, taking a moment to watch the girl in her sleep. I do not think her one of the Hidden Folk, for one such as crafty as they would have likely gotten the better of me in the woods.

But I cannot for the life of me imagine where she has come from.

I shift a little closer, taking in her delicate features. Her face is soft, but there is an underlying sharpness too that tells me she is much more than her beauty.

The air around her stirs, and I'm struck by the scent of dark amber and yarrow… and something more. She smells familiar in a way I cannot place, but the scent of her fills me with such profound need that I stand up, pacing away from her.

My hands are shaking, and I curl them into fists, trying to get control of myself. I need to protect her, to covet her. I need to taste and savor and devour her.

I need with a need that is greater than I've experienced before and it frightens me.

I settle on the other side of my mother's workshop, letting the dusty scent of the plants drying above me block me from the Little One on the bed.

…

I get some sleep, though it's mostly sitting up. By the time morning comes around and Mother rejoins me in her workshop, my mood is dark.

Mother eyes me when she enters before her eyes flicker to the girl still sleeping. When she assesses she has not been touched, Mother nods and sets out to start cutting up roots. I get up and follow her to her work table, pulling out my own knife. I may not have the talent of healing, but I can at least follow directions.

"I don't think she speaks our language."

Mother glances at me. "What?"

I look back to the girl on the furs. "I spoke to her, asked who she was. She spoke a tongue I've never heard before."

Mother's face draws into a tighter frown. "More trouble," she mutters.

I don't say anything in response. I know she is right. This girl has run away from someone who will be looking for her, or she's lost. Either way, there will be someone—someone of means if her complexion is anything to go by—who is missing her.

It is almost certain she will bring nothing but trouble for us.

I glance back at the bed and see her small, pale face against the dark cloud of her hair. I should take her to the village straight away and figure out where she is from, but the thought of sending her away sends irrational panic through me.

Already, my judgment is clouded, for I should be out tending to the chores of the house, but instead I'm here, helping Mother cut roots when I never linger in her workspace.

I finish the roots, and in true Eydís form, she cannot help but run the argument over the girl again.

"Edvard, we can't afford the trouble this girl could bring," she urges.

I put my knife away, tapping the tabletop with one hand. "I know," I tell her, because I do know. I also know I need to learn more about this girl before I make any decision.

I hear her shift on the furs, and Mother and I both look to see the girl sitting up, the confusion clear across her face. Her words are foreign, but the fear in her voice is undeniable. Mother looks at me. "What tongue is this?" she asks, just as confused as I am.

I shake my head. "I know it not."

I watch the girl as Mother tries to introduce us. The girl is like a frightened colt, trembling and curling in on herself. I wonder if her defiance left her in the woods.

She tells us her name, which does not offer any more clues as to who she is or where she's come from; I've never heard a name like it before.

When Mother gives her a cup of ale to drink, the girl chokes, spitting it out and coughing. It is as if she's never tried it before.

Mother turns to me. "You have brought me nothing more than a child," she hisses. I glare at her. "Get out of here. I need this child to focus and you are frightening her."

I stand from the table, glaring at Mother once before I storm out of her workroom. The sun is climbing toward midday when I leave, and I stop, pacing by the gate of my mother's garden as I try to wrap my mind around the strange girl. I need to put her out of my mind and focus on the work at hand. I have much to do and not enough time to focus on Bella.

I'm about to return to my work when I see the girl running. She's fast, for one so small, and she's headed straight for the woods.

Panic overtakes me, and I run after her, needing to make sure she doesn't get away. Perhaps she's trying to return to wherever she came from; perhaps she is just frightened. I don't care. I need her to stay, just at least until I understand her.

It does not take long to catch up to her, and I pounce, grabbing her as we topple in the long grasses. She is so small, so slight under my body,

Despite how childlike she is, it is very clear to me when our bodies press together that she is a woman.

It takes me too long to come back to myself, to pull my mind together, to ignore the scent and heat of her.

She presses against my chest, and I realize I must be crushing her.

"Who are you, Little One?"

She clearly doesn't understand me, but now our eyes have met and I am trapped in her dark amber gaze.

I sense a growing impatience in her.

"I'm going to keep you," I tell her, my words wild and dangerous if anyone was around to hear them. "I need to keep you, at least until I know…"

Her eyes are on my mouth, and I don't know if it's out of desire or curiosity. Either way, it stirs something in me, and I climb off her before I can do anything I would regret.

"Come along, Bella. My mother will have better clothes for you."

She doesn't move, and I huff, bending over to haul her to her feet. She crashes into my chest, stumbling, and I reach out to steady her. She says something to me, her voice quiet and desperate, her eyes scared, but for the first time, I don't think it's her foreign surroundings she fears.

If she is as young as I think, intimacy between a man and woman may not be known to her yet.

It stirs something deep and hungry in me again, and I am grateful, though irritated when my brother and Arni call to us across the fields. They are watching us, confused. I let Bella go, wrapping my hand around her arm to bring her back to my mother. I've been gone from the chores too long, and I need time away from her to clear my head.

Mother is waiting for us, a rope in hand. I don't think she'd actually resort to tying Bella up, but the glare on her face makes it hard to know for sure. Bella seems to agree with me, because she spins, gripping the front of my tunic, her eyes wild with her fear and panic. I don't have to speak her language to know she's pleading with me.

I look at my mother, who is rolling her eyes in obvious annoyance. "You won't tie her up?" I ask.

Mother huffs. "So long as she stops running." Bella looks at her. "Come," Mother commands. I watch Bella walk to my mother, gathering her strength and courage. She meets my mother's gaze without flinching, and for a very quick moment, I see a flash of something, like sun catching on gold wings.

Bella is strong. Though she doesn't perhaps know it yet, it is in her, and when she heads inside, I know that no matter how things may be now, Bella will adapt to our way of life quickly.

…

"Where do you think she's come from?"

I am trying to ignore the open curiosity from my family about Bella, but every time they speak about her, I can feel my fingers spinning tighter and tighter into a fist.

"Perhaps she is the daughter of a king," Rúna says, glancing Bella's way. Bella is standing silently, her body tense, her eyes taking us in. I can see from her face and her body that she has no idea what to do, and she will not move until she does.

"She is nothing more than a well-kept bedthrall," my mother says, her voice full of venom. "She is spoiled, utterly useless in taking care of herself or others. All she knows how to do is stand there and look fair."

My shoulders tense as Mother says this.

"At least she's good at that," Arni says after a moment. Rúna laughs and he grins at her.

Josurr stands and goes to introduce himself to Bella. For reasons beyond me, seeing my brother speaking to her grates upon me.

Bella looks lost, and when she catches my gaze over his shoulder, I find myself helping her without thinking about it. "Josurr," I tell her. I see the relief flash through her eyes as she turns back to my brother, trying to pronounce his name.

"This harassment is pointless," I growl out, trying to mask the raging jealousy brewing just below the surface. "She is not staying."

But despite my words, we all know it's a very real possibility that she will stay.

What then?

Josurr returns to the table, but it seems Bella is still frozen where she was.

"What if she does stay?" Josurr asks. "She would make a fine bedthrall."

My agitation escalates.

"Like we need another reason for you to not get out of bed," Mother snaps at him. "She is useless, no better than a crying baby for all that she can do."

"I'm happy to train her," Rúna offers. Mother ignores her, turning to shoot me a glare.

"Edvard, wet your cock and be done with her. I have no need of another mouth to feed."

I surge to my feet at my mother's comment, and the room stills. "Enough," I growl. "I will be questioned no further."

Mother's eyes narrow, but my attention turns to Bella. I see her eyes on me, and I storm toward her, ignoring the gazes of my family that are on me.

Bella looks frightened as I grab her and haul her outside, but my anger at my mother is too great to slow myself down.

The moment the night air touches me, it is as if I can breathe again. I start to come back to myself, making sure I'm not pulling too hard on Bella's arm as I lead her outside.

The temptation of her is great, but there are so many reasons I will not act upon my desire.

For one, every time she looks at me, I see nothing but fear on her face. While some of the men I know have taken women during the raids whether the woman was willing or not, I prefer an eager partner.

There is no sport of honor in overpowering a woman and forcing oneself upon her.

She is struggling in my grasp, and her sweet voice is laced with venom as she shouts at me.

"Enough!" I growl at her as she tries to kick me. I'm relieved to feel her fighting, even though it is a nuisance. I do not wish her to be docile and easy to be taken advantage of. She moves to kick me again, and I spin her, pinning her against my chest. She's fighting me, and it is almost shameful how much it pleases me to feel her body against mine.

"Be still, Little One. I do not wish you harm." My words fall nearly silent into her hair as I hold her. Her fire pleases me, and I let out a small breath. "You are no frail thing, Little One. You will show them all."

Eventually, she begins to calm down, and though I am glad we can move on, I regret that I must now let her go.

I give myself a moment to breathe the fresh air before I let her go. She turns to me, and what I see in her eyes steals the breath from my chest once more.

She is a fighter, and I see fire in her eyes. She says something to me, but I cannot help myself from asking her once more.

"Who are you?"

I have never seen so much might in such a small form. My mother is wrong, as is anyone else who thinks she is no more than something beautiful to look at.

Little One is built of fire and power, and I silently vow that one day, I will see her wield both.