The days were long and hard. She acquired blisters she didn't know could form, muscles she didn't know existed and a roughness to her skin from days spent in the sun. She thought she had been sunburned before, but nothing matched that when her muscles were also burning.

Ubbe looked and felt like he was in his element, both as a farmer and ealdorman. She was worried people would not take to him as their new appointed figurehead, scared from the tales of Vikings or of what they saw from the heathen army here. But they flocked to him easily and it seemed that nightly they were welcomed to the hearth of someone new for dinner to better know the family.

One rare night alone at their home, as their dinner was being cleared, Bjorn fidgeted from his spot. "Brother," he cleared his throat, "I have news."

Lhyrie stopped her scrape of plates and sat back down. Gunnhild finished wrapping the bread.

"I have made up my mind." Bjorn said, rising from his spot. "For the sake of my mother, and my own, I need to try to regain Kattegat from Ivar."

Lhyrie paused and looked toward Ubbe. Would he try to join him? They only just settled here. And how would Bjorn get an army to attack Kattegat, she wondered. He was forced from Kattegat with less than a trunk.

"No." Ubbe shook his head and stood to match his brother. "We need you here. There will be more attacks and you know it. We need to defend our father's dream."

"We are all trying to defend our father's dream," Bjorn said softly. He looked down at the table and played with a knot in the wood. "Some of us choose to do it differently. I commend you for what you have accomplished here. You have taken a path I could not have."

Ubbe swallowed and nodded. "You are a still my hero, brother. I wish you the best to wherever you are headed."

Bjorn smirked. "Back to York. I will persuade Harald to attack Kattegat with me."

"And you think he will?" Lhyrie asked. She felt bile build up in the back of her throat at the mention of Harald's name and she regretted her arrow missing his neck during the battle.

"He told my husband so," Gunnhild added. She looked down at her own hands as though embarrassed. It would be no secret among them that she would be joining Bjorn.

"We must hope that is still his dream," Bjorn sighed. He then moved closer toward Lhyrie and placed his hands on the back of her chair. "Lhyrie, do not let my brother get any more outlandish ideas."

She laughed and craned her head up to him. "You Ragnarssons are prone to outlandish ideas."

"Yes, it is a dreadful habit." His smile was wide and it lit up his eyes. For the first time since Bjorn stepped foot in England again, he looked happy. He had hope for the first time in a while.

"When do you travel?" Ubbe asked, shifting restlessly. Lhyrie smirked to herself. He wanted his comfy bed finally.

"First light tomorrow."

"So soon? The spring storms will lessen with summer arriving." Ubbe countered. He wanted his bed, but he didn't want to lose his brother.

"We can not delay."

Lhyrie didn't want to think of how difficult it would be for Bjorn to acquire the army needed to attack Kattegat. Harald had sided with Ivar in securing Kattagat away from Bjorn's mother, why would he side with him now? Sure, Bjorn was as charismatic and cunning as his father, as any of his brothers, but it would take the lure of the throne itself to do so. The palisades around Kattegat would be built of bodies by the time its wars were over. She shuttered and gulped down the stone that formed in the back of her throat at its image.

"You will be successful, brother. Father will see to it."

Lhyrie pressed her lips together in a thin smile and nodded. Bjorn was still behind her, his fingers strumming on the wood backing of her chair. The beat shot into her neck and ran down her back. Suddenly, she felt anxious, her hands jittery. The air turned stale and she choked on it. Needing to move, to rid herself of the feeling, she pushed her chair back with a rushed apology to Bjorn before tearing the door open to the cool night.

She peered up. The sky was clear and stars poked out of the blackness. One tore through the night, ripping through the stillness and serenity. She felt at peace now despite the ripple in the sky. Pacing a few steps, she breathed in deep, letting the coolness wash away the final piece of restlessness. Ubbe came to her side silently.

"I am alright."

"I know." Ubbe leaned against the house and looked up to the night sky himself. He crossed his arms to match his legs. "Her death was not in vain," he said after a time. Lhyrie peeked over at him, confused. "Your mother's."

"What are you talking about?"

"You were thinking about the battles Kattegat has seen – how many dead have been left trying to protect her."

"How –,"

He smirked. "I have known you long enough." He turned toward her and raised an eyebrow, asking if he was correct. She didn't confirm it, she didn't have to. Leaning the side of his head back against the house, he relaxed again. "It hung on your face like a tapestry."

"I'm glad my thoughts show so clearly," she muttered dryly. A prickle ran down her spine and the restlessness started again. She sighed heavily and pressed her palm to her brow. "What is to stop Ivar from attacking again if Bjorn succeeds?"

"That would be up to Bjorn," he answered shortly. Lhyrie stared sharply at him and he shrugged his shoulder at her. "We will be here."

"So Kattegat is going to be stuck in a continual loop of mothers dying for their children?"

"Would you like to leave to help him take back the throne for which his mother murdered mine?" For the first time in a long time, she noticed a harshness to his voice that came while talking about Bjorn. For so long, revenge was focused for Ragnar's death and moved off of Aslaug's. As Ubbe spoke, the arrow Lagertha released that day sounded off in Lhyrie's mind and she saw it as though it was yesterday. She realized then why his plan for revenge of Aslaug's death never finished: Bjorn. He couldn't harm Lagertha without destroying every shred of relationship he had with Bjorn. And he loved Bjorn too much to do that. "Say it and we will."

"Of course not."

"Good," he smirked. "Because I want to taste those turnips in the fall."

She stuck her tongue out as she remembered them mashed at the Villa. "No, you don't," she laughed. He took the step between them and scooped her face into his palms and kissed her lightly. Pulling back, he gazed in the low light on her. "Are there anymore thoughts I am hiding?" She cheeked.

"Not that I see," he said softly, scanning her. "Come inside." He rubbed her shoulders and looked back toward the doorway, the light of the fireplace pouring out of it. "I am going to open the wine Alfred gifted us – the port."

"I'll be there in a moment," she breathed. He kissed her lightly again before turning back inside, breaking the streak of light in the threshold. Lhyrie took another deep breath in of the cool night and pressed her back against the wood of the house again.

She closed her eyes and her mind raced East toward Kattegat. She did not want to join Bjorn there, but she was pulled toward the thought of her mother and of her memories of her there. Of her favorite spot on the beach, not far from where she died; of her smell and of her laugh; of her hug and warmth. She didn't want to forget her mother; like she didn't want Ragnar to ever forget about herself.

Part of her wished that Ubbe saw the piece that she had kept hidden from him. Maybe that is why she kept thinking about her mother – because she had missed her courses this month. She didn't want to tell Ubbe until she missed another month in case she wasn't pregnant again. Many things could stop someone's bleeding, including new manual labor like she had been doing. Taking another deep breath, she heard the pop of the wine cork and stepped back into the light.

The days started to blur with their long hours. Once their crops had been planted and lots secured, Lhyrie pushed her mind out of the sun and back indoors. She wanted to establish her practice here. Medeshamstede had the structure of the blacksmith and stalls for vendors but no other existing shops. She wanted to change that.

"Does Alfred need to approve of businesses within the town?" She asked Ubbe one night as they sat by the fire. She set down her stitching and stretched.

"I believe that falls under my jurisdiction," he yawned, the labors of the day catching up to him. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to set up an apothecary. Like I had at York."

"I would need a formal request to review," he peered over at her. "To maintain the integrity of the town."

"A formal request?" She asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes." His lips struggled to not pull up to a smile as he said it.

"Where do you take audience?"

His eyebrows pulled together. "It has been while in the fields," he realized. His mind wandered slightly. She thought he was drawn out to the barley they had recently planted, talking with John as he was today. He ran his finger absently over his lips.

"Do you want me to wait to tomorrow?" She asked, pulling him back to their spot by the fire.

He shook his head of whatever thought he had. "No, no." She swiveled her chair to face him and cleared her throat to begin but he cut her off. "This isn't formal," he said frankly, gesturing to her sitting.

She rose and scoffed, rolling her eyes at him but played into the bit. "Does one stand or kneel for an ealdorman?"

"Whichever you prefer."

She rolled her eyes again and bunched her dress up before him. He looked anything but formal sitting in his own chair: slouched slightly, elbows resting on the armrests, his knees falling ajar, utterly relaxed. Shaking her head, she sighed and bent her knee and then her other so that she was right in front of him. The wood floors were uneven, and her knees shook from it, almost making her lose her balance. Her hands shot to his knee to brace herself. He flinched but she didn't move them.

"I would like to start an apothecary in town," she said simply, looking up to him from under her eyelashes. The fire threw long shadows over his face and his eyes were partially covered from her angle, but one hand was still running through his mustache, the other twirling the end of the armrest.

"Why would an apothecary be useful?" He asked. He shifted slightly and her hands moved with his leg. She stroked her fingers lightly just above his knee.

"A known location for healing with remedies would be beneficial."

"Your location is already known. It is here."

"Yes, I suppose so." She tapped her finger up his thigh. "Would you want me amputating on the dining table or a surgery table at the apothecary?" She cocked her head to the side as his eyebrow and lip rose in distaste. She laughed and continued to move her fingers up to his lap.

"And where would it be?" He asked slowly, his eyes darting down to her fingers tracing his tunic's edge.

"In town," she smirked. She ran a finger over his laces and he shivered. "Next to the smith."

He took a moment to conjure another question and ran a hand over his mouth with a sharp inhale. She took the pause to gently untie him and he finally stuttered, "Would patrons pay in gold or silver, or goods?"

"Thinking of payments, are you?" She cheeked, pulling down his waistband slowly.

"I believe this is bribery." She shrugged and pressed her lips to him. "There would be taxation," he managed to squeak out before he groaned and gripped the chair so tight she thought it would snap. She hummed in agreement and bobbed her head a little further.

"And you would need to keep records." She hummed again in agreement, and he almost whimpered at the vibration.

"Though you could work with the sisters in the monastery." His words were rushed and breathless and she was impressed he was still trying to maintain any negotiation.

She paused her rhythm and thought about stopping altogether because of his suggestion. But she could feel him trembling with anticipation and she let him linger there. She didn't want to work at the church. Like the physician at Winchester, she would find God through healing, not heal through God. Her eyes flicked up to him through her lashes and he was biting his finger, his eyebrows pulled together in desperation.

"No," she buzzed and resumed her pace, taking him more and more. His hand shot from the chair to the back of her head and dug into her hair as he continued to shake.

"For serious injuries you would journey to them…" he said more to himself.

Now he was just testing himself, she was sure of it. Taking him in as far as she could, she was determined to dissolve the composure. His legs twitched, and if his boots were off, she would've seen his toes curl. The hand in her hair flexed and applied the smallest amount of pressure keeping her at the limit just a moment longer, all while resisting the moan creeping onto his lips. The fire dwindled low and she got her apothecary next to the blacksmith.

Life started to form a familiar pattern over the next few weeks. Ubbe spent his days in the sun, maintaining their fields and crops, listening to concerns of the residents while out in his workplace. Lhyrie set up her space in a stall next to the blacksmith until enough wood could be honed for a proper shop. Villagers gawked and stared at her but few came into the space asking for help. Word had spread around the homes of her endeavor – she knew it had, she heard the gossip. Yet people only stared openly or stole glances at her as they passed. She knew she didn't look terribly presentable, she never wore her finest dress as she didn't want to soil anything too nice with blood, if she ever got to heal anyone.

One day, she took a rest from pressing garlic into oil and started a fire near the back of the stall to dry more herbs to crush later. She paused. She had herbs hanging, leeches in a bucket under a counter, bandages laid out by size and tinctures labeled neatly. It reminded her of her aunt's canopy in Kattegat and it pained her slightly to think so. She missed her remaining family there and her friends. She wondered if she was ever going to see them again.

She shook the thought from her mind as the smith's wife came up to her bench and leaned forward. "Quite the assortment you have here," she said in her high-pitched voice.

Lhyrie wiped her hands on her dress and smiled at her. "Yes, I wish I could use it." Her voice grumbled with roughness despite her trying to hide her disappointment.

"Oh, Sarah's husband lost his arm last week –," she gulped her words as soon as she said it and quickly avoided Lhyrie's eye. "Sarah bandaged it herself," she added softly.

"I see," Lhyrie swallowed hard. "It is just if there are any complications, I have remedies." She motioned toward the various assortments she had commented on earlier.

"I am sure they will be useful," she said, her voice rising even higher. Her pitch must do that when she is lying, Lhyrie thought. She nodded despite it.

"Can I assist you with anything now?" Lhyrie asked her, hoping this was more than just a social visit. Perhaps if one of the passerby's saw her actually healing, they would start to come to her.

"Oh." The smith's wife's face dropped at Lhyrie's offer. Lhyrie could see her mind turning, trying to refuse but not offend the ealdorman's wife now that she approached her. The woman gulped and then her eyes lit up. "What do you put on for burns? Our new apprentice," she shook her head hard and looked back at their shop before whispering, "is not the brightest young man."

Lhyrie laughed and reached under a cabinet. She pulled out a small jar filled with a thick, golden salve. "This is a honey and lavender mixture." She put the vial on the counter and it rattled slightly on the uneven board. "For deeper wounds it may burn when applying and slough off some skin, but it actually helps heal more evenly over time."

The woman opposite her eyed the vial cautiously as she said the last sentence. Lhyrie bit the side of her cheek. She should have refrained from that part, but if she didn't disclose that, they could have stormed back to her angry when it happened.

"Thank you." She picked up the vial slowly, like it was hot to the touch. "What do I owe you?"

"Ubbe's pugio needs a proper sharpen. Could that be done?"

"I will have Cerdic come for it."

They parted and Lhyrie felt relieved. Her first customer. Looking up to the sky, dark clouds were rolling in fast and a cool breeze rushed past her. Squandering the fire she had started, she rolled down the canvas sides of the canopy to close the shop for the day in order to make it home before the storm. She hurried as the rain started to fall but she was soaked through by the time she pushed their door open.

"I started to wonder if you were blown away," Ubbe joked as Lhyrie wrung out her hair. The winds had picked up on her walk and she nearly toppled over from them going down the hill to their house. She ignored him as he was fiddling with his knife and continued to dry off.

"Sarah's husband lost his arm last week," she told him as she took a seat next to the fire. Ubbe shifted in his spot. He knew already. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have seen to him."

"I knew nothing of it until this morning."

"Can you talk to them?" She asked. "I can still assess him. What if he fevered?"

"He died this morning."

She gulped. She wanted to yell and tell him it could have been prevented. She wanted to yell and tell every villager that had only gawked at her that this death could have been prevented if only she had seen him.

"That is the only reason I knew he lost his arm," he said. "And… Sarah thinks you are a witch." He looked slowly up and cocked an eyebrow cautiously to her.

"The ealdorman's wife is a witch?" She asked sharply. Ubbe threw his hands up in his defense. "How could I have been given a shop, in public, if I am a witch?"

"It was given under bribery," he reminded her with a wide grin. She threw a wet shoe at him. "They are accustomed to healing their own," he defended. "They have needed to."

"Now they don't have to," she huffed. "I don't understand how they could take to you but not me," she sighed and sank back into the chair.

Puffing his cheeks out, he let out a long breath. He was going to begin talking but quickly snapped his jaw shut. Lhyrie stared at him hard with her eyebrows raised. "They will come to you soon."

"What were you going to say?" She pried.

He shook his head and simply said, "Join me in the field tomorrow."

Lhyrie resisted the urge to groan. Her legs had just stopped aching. "You're not injuring yourself." She pointed at him sternly, sensing a plan.

"I will not." He clicked a crooked smile up. "It is for people to see you with me."

She wanted to roll her eyes at him. "I am your wife. They already think I am your possession." That was one thing of this society Lhyrie hated: the idea of ownership. At least in Viking culture that was not something they thought of.

Ubbe sprang from the chair and in one step came right before her, his hands placed over hers on the armrests and he leaned in to be an inch from her. "I am yours," he corrected at a whisper.

She almost felt like she did have puppet strings on him then or had bewitched him somehow. He never talked like that. Yes, she knew it was true regardless. She brushed his lips lightly with hers. "Does it have to be in the fields?" She breathed, trying to hide a whine.

"Would a bribe help?" He asked, sliding to the floor. His hands were cool as they shifted her still damp dress upward.

She bit her lip in excitement. "It wouldn't hurt," she told him as his hands shot under her hips and dragged her forward on the chair. She braced herself and laughed before he convinced her working in the fields tomorrow wouldn't be so bad.

Though the next morning as she gripped her spade, pushing dirt around, she thought maybe it wasn't worth it, standing in the sweltering sun. She wiped a bead of sweat that ran into her eyes and looked toward Ubbe who was happily digging along, throwing dirt every which way, including at her, to make a path for wheat. He saw her stopped and perked up himself as he noticed a man coming into their plot.

"Hello, Osweald!" Ubbe called, shielding his eyes to the sun. Did he already know every citizen by name? Lhyrie hadn't seen the man before, but she wasn't well with remembering faces or names. He was probably one of the villagers that gave her a passing glance as she set up her stand, as he gave a familiar look to her now as she took the few steps to join Ubbe at his side. "You remember my wife, Lhyrie?"

"Yes, yes," he grumbled, avoiding her eye. He was a fat man but his shirt was made to fit someone of Ubbe's size and was also heavily stained of wine. At least he didn't smell of it now.

"What can I do for you?"

"Aelfwynn is soon to bear the child." His eyes darted West with dread filling them. So much for a happy birth. "I am making myself scarce until the bairn comes."

"You do not want to be present?" Ubbe asked him. He then looked toward Lhyrie and his experience with her own delivery made him gulp. "I did not leave her side."

"Ach, you are better man than me," Osweald spit. "I have not been present for my last three, I shall not start now."

"Who is with her?" Lhyrie asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Her mother and sister," he cut sharply without looking at her.

"Lhyrie is a healer," Ubbe offered and motioned toward her. Osweald's eyes reluctantly followed. "She has birthed many a babe."

"Yes, yes." Osweald nodded his head but his voice was cold. Don't push it, Ubbe.

Ubbe cleared his throat and shifted his feet in the fresh dirt they moved this morning. "The King receives the newborns at Winchester, correct?" He asked Lhyrie. He knew the answer that Alfred would bless them with the bishop but asked for the sake of Osweald.

"Yes, he does."

"Does the ealdorman here?" He asked Osweald. The man looked at Ubbe like he had grown a second head.

"No," he scoffed.

"Should we change that?" He asked cheerfully. "Let me greet the newest member of Medeshamstede." Oh, he was sly. She rolled her eyes up to him as he linked arms with her. "I told you," he bent down to whisper in her ear. Osweald unwillingly marched them back toward his home.

She could hear the pains of labor well before the view of their small house broke the corner of the path. Osweald stopped in his tracks and shook his head, muttering something under his breath. He looked up to Ubbe and ground his teeth before pushing toward the door once more. He hesitated once more before peeking the door open a sliver.

"OUT!" Someone yelled, slamming the door shut again.

"The ealdorman and his wife are here!" Osweald called back through the door.

"WHY?" Came with a pained howl of a contraction.

"He wanted to bless the bairn when he's born, like the King does."

There was silence for the first time in a while. "WHY?" Came again from inside, and Lhyrie had to bite her tongue to stifle a laugh. The sensation quickly faded as another cry of contraction echoed out of the house. Her contractions were very close together. The cry was sharp, not strained. It didn't sound like she was pushing and she should very much be pushing. Lhyrie instinctively moved onto the porch, wanting to help them. Osweald jumped out of her way, away from the door. Lhyrie looked back at Ubbe, who nodded. She pushed the door open slightly.

"I am Lhyrie, the ealdorman's wife," she said softly through the crack. The house was a single room and dark. She could hardly see the outlines of the women standing, let alone Aelfwynn.

"We do not need you," one said sharply, turning her back to her.

"The more, the merrier, Aelfswith," one woman said, opening the door wider for her. She was older than the rest. She must be Aelfwynn's grandmother. Aelfswith must be her mother, by the looks she was throwing Lhyrie as she creeped into the room and plastered herself to the walls. She rushed to Aelfwynn's side as another contraction started. Aelfwynn's sister was also there, silently next to her; they looked nearly identical to one another.

Aelfwynn couldn't be more than sixteen. She looked so young and so little lying in the bed they prepared for her. No wonder Osweald didn't want to be near the house, his previous wife – or wives – most likely died during childbirth. She was pale already, and clammy with sweat in a puddle around her. There was no blood that Lhyrie could see, that was good at least.

"How long has it been?" She quietly asked the grandmother.

"Too long, dear." She answered with downcast eyes.

Her hands ached with the need to help but she clapped them into her lap as Aelfswith shot her another look that could break glass. She wasn't wanted here. Another contraction crested and the cry that came from the shaky lips was of a violent pain – something clearly wasn't right. She stepped forward.

"NO!" Aelfwynn shrieked from her spot.

"I am not a witch!" Lhyrie spat, pushing past the girl's mother. "I am trying to help you," she told Aelfwynn. Her eyes were petrified and dull. She hoped it wasn't from Lhyrie and then figured that several hours of strained labor is terrifying. Aelfwynn gulped and nodded her head.

"I am going to feel your baby," Lhyrie told her. She started pushing on her womb, trying to feel for structures of the fetus. At the top of the womb she couldn't feel feet, but they could be kicking everywhere. Lower down, she felt a shoulder, or a knee or both? "Aelfwynn," she looked at her firmly. "I want to examine where your baby's head is, but I need to put my fingers in you."

"NO, witch!" Aelfswith cried.

"You are being childish, Aelfswith," her mother said, slapping her on her shoulder. Mothers and daughters never change then. Another cry came to the poor girl and she nodded in silent agreement to Lhyrie as she shook.

Lhyrie closed her eyes as she felt between her legs. She was fully dilated and effaced. There was the baby right there. She rotated her hand and tried to figure out what part of the baby it was. Her fingers wrapped around the small curve of a shoulder and a head. They were just out of position slightly. She would need to push them a little to the right. She was about to remove her hand when something told her to feel right. Why was the baby out of position? Her fingers grazed another head.

She wiped her fingers clean and paused. All three women were looking at her. "Twins." Her sister looked like she was going to faint. "They are both fighting to come out at the same time, normally one waits. Though one is more centered than the other. With the next contraction, I want to push that twin midline to get them in the best position." They blinked at her.

Aelfwynn started to cry in pain and Lhyrie quickly swiveled to her side and applied firm pressure to the baby. Throughout the contraction, as Lhyrie pushed harder, the cry changed from vicious to relief. Aelfswith shouted in joy. "Go on darling!" She gleaned. "He's almost here." Aelfwynn gave another final push and the baby broke easily into Aelfswith's hands. His cry was beautiful. The next set of contractions were easier and everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the second set of cries broke through. Medeshamstede had two new boys.

Osweald poked his head in the doorway after the second cries were heard and he looked like he was going to faint himself. Ubbe followed tentatively behind him and he threw Lhyrie a cheeky glance as he saw her next to Aelfwynn. He would remind her that he was right about this forever.

Ubbe made right his promise of seeing the newest members of his shire and kissed them in welcome. Lhyrie decided to stay longer with Aelfwynn, until her bleeding lightened. Night had fallen but the path was clearly marked back into the village and then onto their house. The moon was bright and full tonight. She nearly tripped over her feet. Another full moon already? She was well over being late for her second month of courses then, nearly three. Running a hand over her belly, she only prayed for no twins.

A horse with the King's insignia was hitched outside their gate as she approached. As she pushed the door open, a King's guard was sitting in her usual chair by the fire, Ubbe opposite him.

"We have been called to Winchester." Ubbe told her. "A witan has been summoned."

Lhyrie wiped her hands on her bloodied dress and nodded. Maybe life would be normal for once when they return.